


Project Zero

by BlueLightningAndNexus



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Character Development, Character Study, Dystopian Vibes, ESP, Espers, F/M, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Magicians, Mystery, Original Character(s), Protective Siblings, Psychics, Road Trips, Science Fantasy, Science Fiction, Siblings, Team as Family, Teenage Drama, Teenagers, This is basically a road trip mystery disguised as a YA fantasy, Urban Fantasy, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 64,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24927670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueLightningAndNexus/pseuds/BlueLightningAndNexus
Summary: In the 2040s, three major factions have risen to power: the Mages, who can wield magic by creating Runes; the Oracles, who have psychic abilities through experimentation; and the Unknowns, a small group randomly born with immense powers with no clear explanation. The conflict between these three has resulted in numerous wars and countless deaths. Many years ago, the seven most powerful families of Mages, Oracles and Unknowns ceased the fighting in Los Angeles, and they built the Tower of Hope as a monument to this peace.Eleanor Haley is a rebellious Mage living with her sickly sister. Zoey Lovrin and Jacob Micolta are star-crossed lovers. Ryoken Fukunaga is stuck in the shadow his wildly successful brother. Miles Lawman just wants a normal life. When the five of them are accused of helping orchestrate an attack on the Tower of Hope, they form an unlikely alliance. Now, these strangers team up to clear their names, avenge the fallen, and destroy those who oppose them. No matter the cost.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This has been a long-time passion project of mine and I'm very excited to share it all with you. I hope you enjoy!

Nobody deserves to die this way.

This was one of the last cohesive thoughts that swirled through the disoriented, panicked mind of Martin Earl. Occupation: one of the many homeless citizens residing on Gravel Avenue. 

He sprinted down the alleyway, faster than he had to run in a very long time. If only his surroundings could cooperate. In the dead of night, he failed to notice two things: the puddle of what one could only hope was water; and, right in front of it, the contents of a ripped garbage bag, consisting primarily of empty bottles, cans, torn clothing, and scraps from last night’s dinner. 

Martin gave one look behind him, hoping he lost whoever--whatever--was chasing him. This was his fatal mistake. The second he looked back, he planted his foot directly into the puddle, and just like that, destiny decided his fate. He lost his footing, slipping in the night and landing directly on the pavement. His right knee collided with the ground. An empty beer bottle, sitting there for God-knows-how-long, resided between the concrete and his leg. It shattered almost instantly, and bits of glass and dirt made their way into Martin’s knee. The glass pierced the flesh of his leg in at least 5 different places, and cuts of varying depth and size emerged. Inevitably, there was a lot of blood, and a scream of pain from the recipient. 

Martin’s screams were in vain, however. For once, at possibly the least convenient time for a man in his current situation, the city that never sleeps was, for once, in a slumber. No one heard, and if they did, they didn’t come to rescue a 40-year old man whose knee was torn open. 

“Please, please, I can’t let it end like this.” His words meant nothing in the face of his current situation. All at once, his life began to flash before him, each decision that led to this moment: dropping out of high school, moving to Los Angeles, the “City of Angels,” meeting a girl--

Well, he didn’t get the chance to finish the flash of his own life before his pursuer caught up to him. Reaching out its arm, the pursuer approached, slower this time, as if toying with its prey; a shadowy claw gleaming in the moonlight. 

“Please, please, whoever you are, I just--”

Martin Early wasn’t a particularly good man. But that doesn’t matter now. Nobody will remember him. All at once, his life, and his last words, stopped, and they will forever go unfinished.


	2. Chapter 1: Ryoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryoken Fukunaga arrives in Los Angeles.

Success is a fantastic thing, one can easily presume. Living in the shadow of immense success...not so much. 

Such is the current dilemma facing Ryoken Fukunaga. At age 15, already taller than his father at 5 feet and 8 inches tall, his voice dropped. At age 16, now two inches taller, he found his tall stature, confidence, and baritone voice convinced bouncers that he was an adult, with only a few questioning him. By age 17, those few that might question his age had diminished into near-nothingness.

Now, a week shy of his 18th birthday, Ryoken found himself swarmed by a sea of reporters, the first wave thinking he was Raio, and the second wave asking him questions about the older, infinitely more successful brother he oh-so-greatly resembled. This was a downside to puberty not enough folks discussed: upon reaching a certain height, age, and/or stature, adults inevitably begin confusing you with your older sibling. 

Right now, he’s just trying to get to the damn elevator of the Tower. This was one aspect of the visits to the Tower he hated more and more with every year: the press. Those people, hungry for information or juicy gossip or anything that can give them an excuse to keep their jobs and print something out, no matter how truthful or nonsensical or private it may be; they were **everywhere**. And only in the Tower itself, it seemed. It would be inaccurate to give some kind of analogy like “They lurked around the corner like a shadow in a dark room”. These people were the room, they were the Tower, packing the ground floor so tight Ryoken felt all at once suffocated and isolated from normal humans. 

When he was a boy, Ryoken’s mother, Asami Fukunaga, tried to shield him from the press. They would leave for flights midday and arrive in the middle of the night or early morning, before any trace of sunlight could illuminate the city. Now, as a young man, his father, Raiyuki Fukunaga, would give him assignments and designated projects, most of which were just fodder or useless tasks any ordinary assistant (either in Japan or the States) could handle with ease. Among them, one of Raiyuki’s favorite assignments was for Ryoken to be “the Trailblazer,” arriving at least a day before Raio or Raiyuki himself had to to “pave the way” for the meeting. It was an utterly transparent assignment when Raiyuki first bought Ryoken an early plane ticket two years ago, and its purpose was still insultingly transparent to this day: get Ryoken out of Raiyuki’s sight, and leave the more important preparation for the bigger men, giving Ryoken something to do, even if it was an absurdly useless task that’s sole purpose was to remind him that he lived in the shadow of his elder sibling. Without a mother, Ryoken’s task might as well have been to serve as a lightning rod for all the press, easing them before the rest of his family would arrive the following day, like giving a starving dog a scrap from dinner to ease it into its own food. 

So that’s how he found himself here, on the ground floor, barely able to move through the crowd due to all the questions and bodies thrown his way, exhausted and with only one desire in mind: make it to his usual room, and crash for the night. Instead, without any family around, he fell back on an old habit: analysis. 

A pattern Ryoken noticed at a young age: when faced with crowds, and specifically the paparazzi, it can be beneficial to divide it into layers, cutting the sea of strangers into categories in the same way a chef chops up an onion to reveal each individual layer with a slice of his knife. However, the benefits of such a mental strategy are not limited to dealing with the press: even in events as simple as the yearly Gala or, hell, his own education, Ryoken finds himself subconsciously doing it, barely aware of the process until he’s already surrounded. Towards “Layer 1” (i.e. the people within spitting distance of Ryoken), a certain individual catches his eyes. 

“Mr. Raio, sir, Thomas Wood of the New York Times! Could we have a word on the projects the Committee will be discussing this year, sir?” The voice is that of an optimistic young reporter in the front, one who briefly makes eye contact with Ryoken, pleading eyes begging to tell a story that can cement him in the reporting world. 

“That’s not Raio, you idiot, that’s his brother,” an older, gruffer voice declares. Ryoken shoots a look to the reporter and finds, to his side, an older man: short, only about 5 foot 3, with thick gray hair and a goatee of the same color. 

Ryoken notices both, yet responds to neither. He turns around, pushing past the last press member (a tall man holding a microphone so close to his face it might as well have been down his throat), and makes it to the elevator, finger pressing the golden arrow pointing up. 

“Sir, Mr. Ryoken sir, could you at least tell us where your brother is? And what he’s up to right now?” Calling Ryoken Mr. Anything pissed him off, but to him, using his first name indicated an amount of subtle yet visible disrespect. This was the kind of formality to be used on people who made an actual difference, or superiors, or authority figures of some kind, not some teenage kid who’s not even a legal adult yet. Saying “Mr. Ryoken” differentiates him from his father and Raio; **they** are the ones reporters call “Mr. Fukunaga,” because **they** have done worthwhile things with their lives. Ryoken isn’t allowed to be called such an honorable last name, so he’s given an unnecessary formality with his given name so as to differentiate him. They’re saying to Ryoken “Hey, we like you, but you haven’t done a thing to earn the name on your birth certificate.”

Was he reading way too much into this distinction, yes, most likely. But was it a pet peeve anyways? Also yes. 

Looking out at everyone, Ryoken can’t make heads or tails of whose voice he just heard. They all blur together, like waves at the ocean forming one seamless sound. He scans the crowd, right to left, and looks out. _When I’m alone, they think I’m Raio_ , he bitterly thought, _and when this is refuted, they want to know more about him. I’m never good enough._

He clears his throat. A few reporters towards the front notice the gesture and wisely stop talking; the rest follow suit once the first few words leave his mouth. 

“It doesn’t matter where my brother is, you all will have to suffice with me, at least for the time being. I hope you all can handle that task.” Such a statement shouldn’t surprise them. This is the third time Ryoken has come alone to America to “clear the way” for his older brother and father, but it is the first time he’s made such a self-aware, bitter statement. 

The elevator arrives. Ryoken steps in, and the noise turns to nothingness as the elevator doors close and all he’s left with is some light music. He knows that his father will lecture him tonight on the phone about how disrespectful, unwarranted and ungrateful his words were, but for now, he doesn’t care. The future is for the future, but there’s only one present. 

Before he knows it, the numbers on the elevator blinks and he’s on Floor 20. As the Tower ascends higher and higher, he can’t help but feel satisfaction that the press are literal hundreds of feet below him. 

The golden door opens, and an older man, Stephen Brown, shuffles in. Wearing a labcoat and a nametag so cliche they seem ripped from a 2010s movie, Ryoken identifies him as one of the Area 3 scientists at a first glance. 

“Going up?” he asks as he shuffles in, pressing the button marked “26”. _Yes_ , Ryoken wants to tell him, _you hit the “Up” button the same as me, of course we’re going up_. Instead, he keeps his mouth shut. 

For an agonizing 16 seconds, the elevator rises until the door opens. Stephen gives Ryoken a knowing nod, and keeps walking, a specific look lingering in his eyes: that of hidden recognition, the “I know you but won’t say anything” look Ryoken has grown used to in the last 2 years. 

Praying to whatever deity floats in the Heavens, Ryoken wants nothing more than a hot bath and a cold bed to end the day, regardless of the fact it is barely 4:00 in the afternoon.


	3. Chapter 2: Eleanor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor Haley, a resident of the Tower of Hope, sneaks off to the grocery store.

The Tower of Hope is divided into several major areas. The first area encompasses the ground floor and all the neighborhoods, alleys and streets beyond it in a radius of roughly 12 miles. The notoriously large amount of homeless citizens in LA, growing by the year and multiplying with each successive economic crisis or administration change, populates this area. This first area is the Tower’s most massive, technically encompassing Floors 2, 3 and 4. 

Afterwards, “Area 2” covers the next several floors of the Tower, spanning from Floors 5 to 23. Over 200 feet of leadership and bureaucracy; glasses and windows line the walls, giving the elite a look into what kind of world they live in and what kind of world they want to build. From there, Floors 24 to 35 span mostly research, particularly that of the medical and scientific variety. In the early days of the Tower, then known as simply the Center of Hope, this was mostly analyzing whatever drug was hot on the market and targeting the youth, the unfortunate, and, of course, the homeless of LA. As such, collaboration between this “Area 3” and the LAPD was not just commonplace, but encouraged. 

But now, with dozens of millionaire and billionaire sponsors all pledging money into the building and its projects, the once-noble directors of the Tower have fallen victim to the whims, goals and desires of the shareholders and investors. As such, the focus has shifted into disease control and analyzing the spread of viruses nobody has even heard of, while the masses are ignored and likely will be until the end of time. 

Area 4 is once again dictated by the shareholders, and its purpose is something that shouldn’t even exist. Area 4 serves, spanning floors 36 to 45, is mostly devoted to the gathering of leaders and spokespeople from other charities. Defying the original purpose that defined the Center, Area 4 is in constant debate over what the Tower should use its bloated resources for next: nobody truly cares, they just want the representation that it gives. 

Area 5, spanning only floors 46 to 52, carries almost all of the Tower’s information. Financial records, visitor lists, security information, and almost anything and everything in-between. 

Area 6, spanning floors 53 through 63, is largely a storage facility, containing any extra supplies any of the staff might need at any given moment. 

Area 7, spanning floors 64 to 72, is a representation of the Tower’s commercialization and extension beyond its roots, unofficially the “hotel area” for spokespeople and supervisors to stay during their night trips during trips such as the Gala. 

Directly above it, Area 8 is perhaps the strangest of all: private residence. Initially, a few rooms were set aside for residence of the original 7 creators of the Center, simply for convenience's sake. No use driving through some of the dark, foreboding alleyways and dirty streets to find a cheap hotel if you’re going to come right back in the morning and get back to work, after all. These 7 rooms expanded into a dozen to account for any children or spouses that might come along. Within 22 years and hundreds of America’s elite pledging money to the cause, some windows opened up, new construction became commonplace, and now, Area 8 encompasses Floors 73 to 85, each more secretive than the last, and all of which were populated by the children of the original investors, or just some secrets that they want to keep under wraps. 

Two months ago, Eleanor Haley and Nadia Perry found themselves in the second category with a recent parentage-related revelation, and so, here they were. 

“How are you feeling today?”

Eleanor steps into Nadia’s room. Despite these being the sort of rooms that define Area 4 of the Tower (spacious, many windows, general luxury), Nadia’s room looks more like a hospital room. Not just the medical equipment and stretcher, but the uncomfortable plastic chairs, the thick glass, the white walls, the utter lack of any unique or defining decorations, and so on. Eleanor wondered during her first night if this was an intentional detail added by their shared father to remind them that they do not, cannot, and will never belong with the upper-class citizen; or if this was a detail added in by the Tower staff themselves to accommodate for Nadia’s condition. Either way, it pissed Eleanor off. 

“Same as yesterday,” Nadia replies weakly. She’s wearing a brown hospital gown, the same as yesterday, and the day before, and the day before. 

“What gives? You seem down?” Nadia asks. Eleanor doesn’t have it in her to say  _ I’m depressed because you’re stuck here in a bed while I can walk freely _ , and she also knows that the amount of “freedom” she has is completely relative to their own father’s whims, so she keeps quiet. 

“Nothing, just school. Tiring me out.” She rubs her eyes as if trying to hammer the point home, and changes the subject before it can be pressed further. “I’m going to go out and get some groceries today, want anything?”

Nadia shakes her head. “No, not really. Just the usual.” 

By “the usual”, she's referring to the basics that the cafeteria at the Tower sorely lacks; eggs, bread, some produce not in the form of applesauce, milk, and meat not available in a nearly shake-like consistency. 

Eleanor nods her head, putting on a leather jacket. She never was one to dress fancy due to circumstances, and she won’t now, even as she lives in a part of the building designed to house the richest of the rich. Her outfit consists of blue jeans with holes in them, about a size too big that she compensates with a brown belt; a yellow T-shirt that’s about a half-size too small; and the jacket she’s worn almost everyday since she was 13. 

“Do you want me to get you anything before I go?” Eleanor’s voice while talking to Nadia automatically becomes gentle and sweet as honey without her even thinking about it. The “Big Sister Instinct” she’s only had a couple of months to hone affects her voice most of all, and Nadia doesn’t have it in her to express her annoyance at being treated like a porcelain doll. So she nods her head “no”. 

Taking the keys off the coat rack, Eleanor mumbles something to the effect of “Be back in a few,” and departs, the door slamming behind her louder than she intended. 

To keep her presence under wraps from some of the other visitors, Eleanor has to go through an obscure back door at the end of her hallway. Typically used by the janitorial services, Eleanor’s findings have revealed it as being the only conceivable way she can get out of the Tower and into the real world without being spotted. 

Hiking down three flights of stairs and into an elevator, she makes eye contact with a janitor going up, and moves into an elevator, spacious and bronze and smelling vaguely like bleach. Taking her all the way to the backroom of Floor 1, she finds herself out the door and into the street within minutes. 

Depressing as it may sound, Eleanor has come to realize that these trips to the outside world, even for something as mundane as getting groceries for her half-sister, had become the best part of her day. After all, when the rest of the day is making awkward small talk with said half-sister, making even more awkward smalltalk with the staff members that clearly distrusted her, or doing online schooling; it wasn’t much of a contest. 

She looked back at the Tower. Now, about two blocks away from it’s backdoors, she could both admire and be perplexed by the strangeness of its design. From this distance, she was close enough to see its individual details yet still far away enough she didn’t have to strain her neck in an attempt to gaze upward at some of the higher stories. 

The building was highly unusual, a direct result of its original designs being limited to its ground-level floors. But, as more and more charities and elite flocked to the Tower, more money was added to its resources, and more was added onto the original design. It’s hard to notice if you’re not looking for it, but two decades of uneven, infrequent construction (usually at a break-neck pace) led to some slight differences between floors. The initial floors all flow together, and are obviously all part of the same original structure and design; the subsequent ones have a more blocky feel to them, with less windows and more narrow hallways. After this, the next dozen or so floors begin to open up slightly, with more expansive walkways and more emphasis on natural sunlight, but less colors in its design. Subsequent floors, such as the storage and janitorial levels, are characterized by a more grid-like pattern than can be hard to spot without witnessing the interior of the Tower. Finally, the uppermost levels-- _ the ones I live in _ , Eleanor thought--seemed almost like a mish-mash of uneven designs; many of the residential rooms are at slightly different designs and elevations. 

She scoffed. She never once imagined she could live in such a massive place. It was something of a dream for her, as a child; to live in a building so big she could hardly count all the floors and keep track of all the rooms.  _ Only then could I be happy _ , she remembers naively thinking to herself. 

Oh, how times have changed. Currently, her reception to the whole affair was lukewarm, at best. “Maybe things will change,” she mumbled to herself. Turning her back to the place, she continued walking to the grocery store. 

______________________

As usual, the stores were jam-packed. 

Filled to its capacity, Eleanor struggled to push her way not only into the supermarket, but through it. Families of way more people than were necessary for a single trip; crying kids; hordes of underpaid teenage workers struggling to keep up; and customers (usually solo, but sometimes in duos) at the Self-Checkout all clogged the aisles and made it difficult to navigate into and around the building. 

Eleanor gave a silent “thank you” to whatever deity was listening that, despite her parentage, she wasn’t like any of those other snobby, rich, celebrity kids her age.  _ They could never go anywhere, or do  _ **_anything_ ** _ like this _ , she thought as she grabbed a carton of eggs and put it in her black basket.  _ Imagine that, being the focus of so much attention day-to-day life, something as ordinary as a trip to the store, becomes immensely difficult.  _

In truth, Eleanor couldn’t imagine that. She’d spent so much of her life being a “nobody,” heeding her mother’s wisdom and sticking to the background, letting no one even notice her presence.  _ “If they don’t notice you, they can’t suspect you _ ,” she remembered her mother saying,  _ “and if they don’t suspect you, they won’t hurt you.” _

Words to live by, no matter how depressing they may be. 

At the same time, even though a simple trip to the local grocery store may feel ordinary for other people, it sure wasn’t ordinary for her. She’d spent so much time at home, in her room, being forced to live in her mother’s philosophies to the extreme; she didn’t go to public school, she never saw any other children besides Nadia, and she didn’t see any children besides her mother and the occasional Social Services agent. 

As soon as Eleanor stumbled upon this recollection, she immediately pushed it down. Now was no time for that. 

Once she had the last thing on her small grocery list, Eleanor went to the checkout lane. She paid with the credit card Charles gave her for grocery money all those weeks ago ( _ It felt like years _ , she pondered), and collected everything in a small plastic bag. In no time at all, she was out of the store, sun hammering down on her with. 

The streets of the area were easily the worst part of the trip. The entire First Area felt dirty, hot, crowded and busy beyond belief. Even grocery stores had air conditioning to ease the pain, but Eleanor had no such comforts on the journey home. 

With each block she passed, everything started to feel the same: the smell of urine, the foot traffic, the alleyways filled with residents just trying to sleep in the shade.  _ Not long ago, I was living no different from many of these people _ . 

Truth be told, Eleanor couldn’t run most of her errands in the actual First Area itself. Without any real stores or public transportation, she usually just had to walk part of the way until she could find an Uber, and then drive a few miles outside. People in that part of town were still dirt-poor, but at least it wasn’t as bad or crowded as inside the First Area. It wasn’t quite as convenient as going to the store was when she and Nadia lived on their own, but it got the job done. On the rare days she used some of her own money and not the cards her father gave her, she could afford a little more and grab a Taxi; they tended to park closer to the Tower, but it was barely enough to justify the cost. 

Today, she found one within three miles of the Tower, but none were around now. She sighed and took her sleeves off, ready to start the walk home. 

Within only a few minutes, she found a sight quite captivating. 

“How can you people not see it!” a voice shouted, augmented by the white megaphone in his left hand. A man stood atop a green jeep parked on the sidewalk. Gesturing extravagantly with his right hand while talking, the man found no audience despite his enhanced volume. Or, maybe it was because not one soul around gave a rat’s ass about his message. 

“They’re just  **using** us!” he shouted. Really, it was hard to even call him a man: he looked more like someone Eleanor’s age, maybe 18 or 19 at best. Just a kid. He wore cargo shorts and a white sleeveless shirt, and Eleanor noticed a pile of flyers on the roof of his car, mere inches away from his feet. 

“We’re expendable to them! We always have been, and we always will be! Unless we rise up!”

His message fell on deaf ears, with a few exceptions, notably the middle-aged woman wearing sunglasses and a black T-shirt who walked by and promptly told him to “shut up, asshole!” A few others joined in, but for the most part, people just ignored it, as if the commonality of the event made it worthless to even attempt shutting him up; in much the same way one wouldn’t yell at an ant during a picnic, simply because of the futility of such wasted effort. 

Eleanor peered over at his flyers as she walked by. Behind her, someone yelled a warning at the activist that he would get arrested if he kept this up. Again, it fell on deaf ears. 

“It’s not fair that we have hundreds--nay,  **thousands** \--just outside their doorstep starving to death, or getting sick on unclean drinking water!” As he spoke, he pointed an accusatory finger at the Tower of Hope, forever in the background of Eleanor’s line of sight in much the same way the Eiffel Tower sticks out in every background shot of Paris in Hollywood movies. “The people there only care about themselves! The only thing they understand is force, and we have the strength in numbers!”

Before Eleanor could even ponder the absurdity of someone using “nay” in oral form, she snapped her head back at the guy with the megaphone. She thought of how many years she lived on the streets, or sheltered from the entire rest of the world, and how she came all this way out here just to get her sister some fresh fruit. And after all of that, this asshole comes out here and tells her to, essentially, “screw off” because of her place of residence, which she has zero control over. 

Was she living good? Sure, but not nearly as good as many of the other people in there. And many of the people in the Tower were just the maids or janitors she passed on her way down. They didn’t deserve to get lumped in with the truly corrupt elite. 

She knew exactly what was going on inside his head. Hell, she’d seen it herself. The people there lived like kings and queens, spitting in the face of what the entire Tower was all about (before it was even a “Tower”, and just a “Center”), living it up while people will spend years waiting for the aid they were promised two decades ago, all while spoiled rich kids get to camp out in the upper levels and their parents can pretend they care about saving the world or curing cancer, or whatever it was this week. 

It was over glorified, corrupt, and Eleanor hated it. But, in that moment, her emotions were overriding her logic, and all she could think about was this asshat saying she only cares about herself while Nadia laid in bed, barely able to move on her own. 

And so, despite being fully aware of the paradoxical nature of her decision, as well as being aware of the fact that her decision was motivated solely by childish anger, she hated him, too. 

He noticed her looking at him, and paused mid-rant. He smiled, utterly misinterpreting the confused and pissed off expression on her face, and reached down, handing her a green flyer as the crowds of people continued walking by. 

“Hey, kid, you seem like you’re interested in this stuff, amiright? Don’t you want to get back at those fuckers in there?”

_ His voice is so utterly devoid of charisma I actually want to slap him _ , Eleanor thought to herself. She was so flabbergasted by this guy’s stupidity of declaring his intention to storm the Tower mere miles away from it, she reached over and took the flyer from his hand without even thinking. This close to the guy, she could see he had a pin on the corner of his shirt, a small emblem containing a G and an R overlapping, the symbol of the Golden Rebellion. 

“Interested in helping fight for the future?” he said with a smile. 

Once her anger got the better of her, she remembered why she stopped in the first place. In one quick motion, and without breaking eye contact, she reached over to the top of his stack of flyers, and threw them all on the ground. Over the sound of paper scattering, she failed to hear the sirens in the background. 

“HEY!” he shouted. 

People paused for a moment to watch her do it, or to watch the aftermath, but it didn’t change much. She was simply annoyed at this guy, and his stupidity, so she wanted to annoy and inconvenience him. It was that simple. 

She walked away, stone-cold expression, all while the guy jumped off and scrambled the grab the papers. People walked over his stuff, either intentionally or without a care in the world about what was going on; both possibilities seemed relatively consistent with the behavior of Los Angeles citizens. 

Looking down at the flyer in her hand, she was met with a familiar symbol: the same G and the same R of the Golden Rebellion. Written on the bottom were a series of random numbers that must’ve been some kind of address. She didn’t give it too much thought. “Bunch of assholes,” she muttered to herself as she crumpled the paper and put it in her leather jacket. 

Once she was a few meters away, she heard two things, back-to-back: a loud, resounding “YOU BITCH!”, followed by a second wave of sirens. 

She turned around and made a brief moment of eye contact with him, just as a cop car rolled into her line of sight, nearly hitting a few people in the process. Two officers came out and, without hesitation, put the activist in handcuffs while he was on the ground and collecting papers. Ignoring his struggles and screams, the larger of the two picked him up like he was luggage, while the shorter of the two opened the backseat doors. They threw him in, got in the front two seats, and drove away like nothing ever happened. 

Eleanor couldn’t decide which she was more horrified by: what she saw, or the fact that nobody else even bothered to look. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am predicting Uber will be around like 30 years in the future when this takes place, lol.


	4. Chapter 3: Miles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Security guard Bruce Lawman takes his son, Miles, to the Tower for the afternoon.

The Gala Hall was massive. Really, **everything** was massive for Miles Lawman, who was seeing the interior of the Tower for the first time since a 5th Grade field trip. 

“Wow. Is it always like this?” he asked. 

The interior was unlike anything he had seen...well, ever. The relative lack of natural lighting did absolutely nothing to hinder the beauty of the area, the lack of windows being balanced by the unavoidable presence of many glass lamps on the perimeter of the room, with colors ranging from scarlet to cobalt to forest green to amethyst; and golden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, bits of glass arranged in crystalline patterns hanging off the arms of it. He noticed a few windows towards the back, but they looked more like the kind one would see in a Catholic cathedral; not much use in letting in sunlight, but with intricate, complex layers and loads of color to create specific designs. 

The light seemed to bounce off the walls and floor, pure marble with recurring patterns of black and white and gray. Ahead of them, waiters--all dressed in freshly-ironed tuxes--set up massive dining tables, either circular or rectangular in shape, with silky white tablecloths and silverware sets that cost more money than all the clothes in Miles’ dresser. 

To the side, portraits of the Tower’s contributors and founders lined the walls, filling the empty space between lamps and windows. They were all drawn with the sort of grace and seriousness one would expect to find amidst collections of paintings of American Presidents, with utterly stoney expressions and some downright strange poses. 

“Only once a year. They always get it nice and fancy for all the shareholders and their families when they come in.” Miles laughed at this, but not one out of genuine amusement; it was more out of bafflement than anything else. 

“I don’t know how you can stand working for such pretentious rich people, Dad.” Miles said, pointing up at the chandelier. “I mean, look at that. That probably costs more than all the apartments on our floor do in a year’s rent.” Miles shifted his attention and finger to the fountains ahead of them. “And look at that. Who even needs a fountain? This is supposed to be about charity, for God’s sake.” 

“Miles, language,” Bruce reminded him. Miles mumbled a timid “yes, sir,” putting his finger down. 

“Son, my job isn’t about the people I work with,” Bruce continued, facing his son and putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“It isn’t? Seems like the whole point of being a security guard.” 

“Hey, hey, it’s Head Security Guard now, young man,” Bruce jokingly responded. He waited for his son to stop snickering before he continued.

“But yeah, the execution of the job is about protecting certain people. But that’s not why I took it.” Bruce pointed his free finger at Miles’ head. “I took it to provide for my family, and that includes you. It’s the same as any other job.”

“Still, I don’t think I could do it. It’d start to get to me after a while, waiting on all these as—jerks.” Bruce shot Miles a glance at his slip-up, but decided to give his son a break. “It’s not all bad, you know. Some of the people are really nice. Plus, nights like tomorrow get us loaded. Seriously.” 

A pause. Miles finds himself staring at some of the portraits, and he can’t help but contemplate how weird it is to be within the Tower--the life’s work of some of these people--yet be of a totally different world than them. That sort of world of private artists to paint portraits and gold chandeliers and fancy clothes and jewelry...it wasn’t his world. 

Miles wasn’t bothered by this fact, however. It wasn’t like he was bothered by the divide, but it was strange to contemplate sometimes, especially now, with his father as the Head Security Guard and owner of an entire company that’s helping the Tower run smoothly. He wasn’t part of this world, but he was as close as humanly possible. 

“Yeah, it can be rough sometimes, but for the most part, things are pretty quiet these nights.” Bruce said, trying to break the silence. “Some of the guests can be a real pain in the ass, it’s a ton of people, we always have to look out for suspicious folks--which doesn’t help, because everyone looks shady as hell--the little kids can be a total pain, and--”

“Hey, Dad?” Miles interrupted. 

“Mhm?”

“Why did you bring me here?” 

It was a question he had been avoiding yet curious about all the same. It wasn’t like his father to provide security at such high-maintenance places, but for the last few years, his company--Lawman Security--had been trusted, along with a handful of other private security groups and businesses, to protect everyone that comes to these Galas. Yet in those years, Miles never once came with him, unless he happened to be in the car when dropping his father off. 

“You’ll be coming here tomorrow with your mother and brother,” Bruce said with a grin. Miles couldn’t see his own face, but he was quite certain that his eyes probably widened to comical, cartoonish proportions when he said this. 

“Wait, what? Why?” Miles blurted out at a volume louder than he intended, the alliteration making him slightly stumble over his words. 

“Policy change,” Bruce explained. “Most of the guards who’ve been doing this thing longer than a few years can bring their families along now.”

Miles raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “No cost for us?”

“No cost,” Bruce said, giving his son a pat on the shoulder and flashing a toothy smile. Miles pondered for a moment, before deciding to explore an alternate route in the conversation. “What happens if I don’t want to go?” Bruce dramatically shrugged. 

“I guess that’s your choice, son, I’m not gonna make you go to a black tie event. But,” he said, leaning in, “I did see the way you were looking at everything here. Isn’t it possible that it could be fun?”

By this point, Bruce had turned around and started to walk back out the main entrance to their car. Miles followed, a half-step behind his father in pace. 

“Maybe,” Miles admitted, still not 100% convinced. Would he be able to have fun here? None of his friends could come along, but he wasn’t sure that bothered him; he was never one to have being alone get in the way of his own personal enjoyment and satisfaction. But what would he even do here? Besides try not to think about how the cars these people drove probably cost more than he would make in his lifetime. 

“Hey, here’s some incentive if I ever heard it,” Bruce said. “Guests can eat any of the food, no questions asked.”

“Deal, I’m in,” Miles responded without hesitation. 

“Excellent,” Bruce said. “I’m glad, it’ll be fun for all of us. Well, not me, I’ll still be working, but it’ll be fun for you, Matt, and your mother.”

 _Oh yeah,_ Miles thought to himself, _I briefly forgot that I have a family, and they’ll also be coming to this._ “Are you sure we want Matt here? He might blow our cover,” Miles joked. 

“I’m quite positive...plus, I’ll look like a bad dad if I leave him at home, and he would never let me hear the end of it, so yeah, he’s coming.” 

Miles laughs at this. “Yeah, what the hell, let’s do this. I got nothing better to do tonight.”

“Language,” Bruce reminded him, as they approached their car, the keys in hand. 

“Oh, come on, dad! This is a cause for celebration,” he jokingly replied. 

“Uh huh. So, tell me, what are you wearing?”

Miles hadn’t even considered this. He mentally stopped dead in his tracks. _What the hell do I wear? I have nothing that could hold a candle to any of these people._

“Um...whatever I can find?” he said, unsure of his own response. 

“Huh. So, what, you’re gonna walk in with your white button down shirt and call it a day?”

“M...maybe?” Miles said. Bruce laughed. “Are you kidding me?! A high school dropout has more class than you, for Pete’s sake. Damn, kid! I can’t believe you’re my son.”

“Hey, watch that language,” Miles said in a gruff voice, imitating his own father. 

“Are you mocking me?” 

“Yeah, why?” Miles answered. 

Bruce shook his head, slightly taken aback by his son’s straightforward answer, trying to pretend to be at least a little annoyed at the mockery to maintain his facade as a responsible parent. “Anyways, only your mother and I can say that,” Bruce told him, unlocking the car and climbing into the driver’s seat. “Oh, really?” Miles challenged him, crossing his arms. 

“Really, we patented that phrase, it’s ours now,” Bruce said, turning the car on. “Anyways, this isn’t Church, kiddo, we gotta find some better clothes for you and Matt.” 

“Weird. Is this how couples are when they go to prom?” Miles asked, as he climbed into the shotgun seat. 

“I don’t know, son,” Bruce said as he stuck the keys in the ignition. “I never went to prom.”

“Neither did I,” Miles replied. 

“I remember, son. You couldn’t find a date,” he said as he turned on the car and shifted the car into reverse, putting his arm on Miles’ seat and looking behind. 

“Hey! I didn’t go by choice.”

“Sure.” His father was utterly unconvinced.


	5. Chapter 4: Jacob, Zoey and Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob and Zoey talk on the phone. Miles' father, Bruce, gets a call from his estranged brother.

“I’m so excited for you to get here.” The words traveled through Zoey Lovrin’s cell phone and across several states and dozens of cities, the message moving from Chicago and coming out the other end in Los Angeles on Jacob Micolta’s own phone. 

“I know, I can’t wait,” he replied. Without even seeing her face, he knew from her words she was smiling. It became second-hand nature for him: to analyze her tone and create an image in his mind of what expression she carried on her face based on those words alone. 

“It’s been too long,” she muttered into her phone. “It’s always too long between visits,” he automatically responded, “but this time, it should last a little bit longer.”

“Do we know that for sure?” Zoey asked, hesitant to raise her own hopes beyond the standard amount. “Do we know for sure that it’s two weeks and not one?”

“Well, no, we’re kids. We never know for sure. My dad doesn’t tell me jack shit.” On the other end of the call, Zoey nodded her head and hummed in agreement. “But based on what I’ve overheard--”

“You mean eavesdropped, yes?” 

“Actually, no, I don’t,” Jacob lightheartedly challenged. “It’s not really eavesdropping if I’m walking by his bedroom door when he’s on the phone, and he’s talking to a client, and I just wanted to use the restroom, and I stop for a second to tie my shoe--”

“Uh huh,” his girlfriend replied, unconvinced. 

“--and I happen to overhear him saying something about a massive agenda that they need more time to uncover, and I don’t want to pass the wrong information onto you or my friends, so I happen to stick around for a few extra seconds just to make sure I can hear everything, and then I keep listening in, just to make sure I heard everything. That’s not eavesdropping, right?”

“Actually, if you look up eavesdropping in the dictionary, you’ll find your exact quote next to the definition.” 

“Oh, shut up! You take the fun out of everything,” Jacob said, a little bit louder than he intended to. Across from him in the limo, his younger sister, Escher, shushed him and pointed to their older brother, Duran, who has fast asleep. 

Zoey was lying down in her Queen-sized bed (too big for her 5’5” self), which was uncomfortably placed in the center of her massive bedroom (again, too big for her 5’5” self). 

Jacob was currently in his family’s limousine, head against the window, looking out at the city of Los Angeles. Crowded sidewalks, concrete, public transportation, and smooth streets started to give way into dirtier, bleaker views. The waves of people making their way to their apartments, or food, or stores, or even to work started to shift into crowds of homeless citizens, equal in numbers, begging for money and sleeping in the shade. The left tire on the front of the limousine hit a pothole, and before he could adjust his position, the same pothole hit the back left tire, and Jacob’s head slammed into the window. He hissed in pain, cell phone clutched a bit tighter than usual in his right hand, and his left hand rubbing the spot on his head where he was hit. 

“Are you alright?” Zoey asked, voice shifting from desperation and longing to concern in the blink of an eye. Without thinking, Jacob responded to the pain with a small, unconvincing chuckle. “Yeah, I’m good, I just forgot how bad the streets are this deep in the city.”

“Where are you right now?” she asked. He pulled his head off the window just in time. The limousine hit a second pothole, than a third. Eventually, the entire street started to evolve with the people, and it became rougher, unrefined. He gazed out the window, trying to find some kind of sign to direct him, giving him the information he needed to answer that question. No such street sign presented itself. 

“Uh...give me a sec,” he said, peering out the available windows. 

“God, you were always horrible with directions,” she said. Jacob didn’t bother trying to fight it; that statement was too irrefutably correct for him to even jokingly resist. 

“Skid Row,” Escher piped up across from Jacob. He looked at his younger sister (who he had no idea was hearing Zoey on the other end) and pulled the phone away from his face, covering it with his hand and mouthing _Are you sure_?

Escher nodded in affirmation. “She’s right,” interjected Duran. who was apparently not asleep and had been eavesdropping on a conversation about eavesdropping and directions. Jacob looked over at their older brother, eyes closed and slumped over in his seat, and wondered how the hell Duran knew where they were with his eyes closed. 

“Skid Row, apparently,” Jacob said into the phone. “Oh, you’re only about 25 minutes from it, right?” Zoey asked. 

Jacob went silent for a moment. He looked up at Escher and shrugged, as if to say _I have no idea, are we?_ And she gave him a thumbs up, so as to non verbally affirm Zoey’s statement. 

“Jacob, Duran’s giving you directions, isn’t he?” Zoey asked. 

“Actually, no,” Jacob said, “that would be Escher. I thought Duran was asleep this whole time, but I guess not.”

“I’m not,” Duran groggily replied, with the same tone of voice one would use after their mother wakes them up for school because their alarm clock didn’t go off and they’re about to be late. 

“Huh. Well, there you have it,” Jacob told Zoey. 

In Chicago, a familiar _creak_ drew Zoey’s attention away from the call and to her door. She rolled over and looked to her left, facing an equally familiar head of red hair. 

“Mom says we need to pack.” Her younger sister, Audrey, poked her head in, the words coming out rather timidly. Jacob strained trying to make out the words on the other end. Zoey held up one finger and mouthed _one second_ , readjusting her grip on the phone. 

“Listen, I, uh, think I need to call you back. We gotta get ready for the plane tonight.”

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jacob said. “I love you,” he whispered into the phone, quiet enough that Audrey couldn’t hear it, before hanging up. 

He hit the “End Call” button and looked back at Escher, her face contorted in a wide, unusual smile. 

“What?” he asked, sounding more annoyed than he intended. 

“Nothing,” she said as she turned her neck to look out the window, “you just sound so lovey-dovey when you talk with her.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, putting his phone back in his pocket. 

“It’s true,” Duran mumbled. 

“For God’s sake, dude, stop butting in this conversation. Either sleep or don’t,” Jacob snapped at his brother. Escher started laughing at that. 

In Chicago, the conversation that followed between Zoey and her own younger sister played out quite differently. 

“Who was that?” Audrey asked innocently. Zoey rolled off the bed, pretending to ignore her as she walked to her dresser. When met with silence, the 8-year old defaulted to the next-best strategy for finding answers: assumptions. 

“Was it your boyfriend?” she asked. 

“Absolutely not,” Zoey replied a bit too fast and a bit too loud for it to be fully convincing. 

____________________________

“It’s a mess, bro. A grade-A mess.”

On one end of the phone was Nathan Levinski, a detective of the NYPD, standing outside a crime scene. This was no ordinary crime scene, but the fourth of its kind within two weeks: a single homeless resident is found within the Circle surrounding the Tower, right along the border of it, but isolated enough that no one else saw the murder or was hurt. This time, the crime scene in question was the alleyway between two abandoned buildings, one that used to be a run-down and relatively small apartment complex, and one a former accounting firm; both of which had been abandoned within the decade. Nathan stood about 6 meters away from the entrance of the alleyway, where other detectives swarmed the scene like flies to rotten meat. 

On the other end was his maternal half-brother, Bruce Lawman, who had intended to spend the day out with his son, getting Miles excited about the following night, which brought the two of them to a Starbucks after their visit to the Tower. Instead, he pretended to use the restroom so he could bolt outside and talk to his brother without fear of Miles hearing any grisly details. 

“Yeah, I figured. How many is that this week alone?” Bruce asked. 

“Two, with two more last week.” Bruce’s voice was nervous, the tiniest bit shaky, but not enough that someone could hear it over the phone unless they were familiar with him. 

“Exact same way?” 

“Exact. Same. Way.” Nathan’s voice was devoid of any fear (or much of any emotion, if Bruce was being honest), colder, and a tad bit more dramatic than he needed to be. 

“Punctuating each word of a three-word sentence for emphasis isn’t as endearing as you might think.” Bruce was standing outside the back of the Starbucks, leaning against the hot walls. Even in only shorts and a light green T-shirt, the sun was scorching him; a bead of sweat fell down his face, and he knew it wasn’t long before the sweat caught up with the rest of his clothes. He started wondering how to explain this to Miles. 

“All four times, the victim’s throat has been cut open, but it’s been a messy job. The past three times, the mortician’s located a point on the neck where some kind of needle or thin blade entered...actually, cutting doesn’t really work as an adjective, in this case. After the initial penetration, the perpetrator just runs his finger along the neck without cutting it; it’s just torn apart like Styrofoam.”

Bruce wanted to vomit. He couldn’t believe he did this shit--and did his job **good** \--for as long as he did. 

“Whoever we’re looking for, he’s not some precise, clean-cut kinda guy. He gets people to where he wants, and then gets as messy as possible.”

“Yeah, well, I could’ve told you that.” Bruce hoped he didn’t look too queasy when he saw Miles in (what he hoped would only be) a few more minutes. 

“Sarge said that someone needed to tell security tomorrow about this, we all gotta be on our toes. I’m supposed to tell you to look out for any suspicious figures.”

“Yeah, no shit. That’s about 50% of your job and 80% of mine.”

A pause on the other end made Bruce think his brother hung up, just for a split-second. “Bruce, I’m being serious.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Whatever’s going on, this man is 50 shades of messed up.”

“Yeah, I **know** ,” Bruce repeated. All conversations with Nathan felt the same. “What’s the latest victim’s name?” For the life of him, Bruce wasn’t entirely sure why he asked that. Maybe it helped him feel like he was helping. Maybe it helped him feel like he was being an active participant in the conversation, instead of just being an ear for Nathan to rant to. 

“Martin Earl,” Nathan answered, voice devoid of any discernible emotion. 

Hearing his half-brother’s specific tone of voice was... _jarring_ for Bruce. Whereas Nathan sounded dead-serious and alert while talking about the murder and the patterns behind it, his voice dropped and seemed to noticeably decrease in intensity while discussing the victims themselves. He sounded almost...bored. Bruce found himself wondering if Nathan talked like this about other things, with Miles or with his coworkers; as if when it comes to the individual victims, they didn’t even matter, they were too boring to matter. 

Bruce wanted to be mad, but he found himself thinking about his own time doing the same thing. _After a few years, you become desensitized to it_ , he thought. He remembered how similar he sounded when he was in the force, monotone and emotionless about anything that wasn’t life-endangering. It became **hard** to maintain the kind of energy you’re supposed to have in a job about saving people. “Compassion Fatigue,” it was called. 

“Any relation to the other three victims?”

“Besides living in the same part of town and having the same socio-economic status? No siree, nothing.” 

_Miles is probably wondering what’s taking me so long,_ Bruce thought as he gave a second look behind him. “Listen, is there anything else I need to know? Make it quick if there is.”

“Not much.” Bruce waited for any sort of elaboration, and when it didn’t come, he tried to pull the plug on the conversation. 

“Well, in that case--”

“I’m worried about mom.” 

Nathan’s words snapped Bruce back. Sweat was dripping down his neck and back by this point, and the glass of his phone was slick against the side of his head. 

“Why?”

“She lives near this part of town. I get worried about her sometimes, ya know?” 

It was rare for Nathan to talk about...well, anything beyond his police work. When the two actually would talk once in a blue moon, he would mostly just ask about Bruce’s kids, then both would start sharing stories from their jobs. Opening up like this, and generally showing any kind of concern or anxiety, just wasn’t Nathan’s style. Bruce was taken aback for a moment. 

“Oh. Well, isn’t she relocating? Something about...rent prices, or whatever.” Without even trying, Bruce made it painfully aware he had no idea what was going on with their mother. 

“No. No, it’s been a hassle with her landlord. Son of a bitch kept raising prices, so we were looking around. She found a new place, but it’s just a few neighborhoods down, same deal.” Outside of the alleyway, Rose Aldaine poked her head out and made eye contact with Nathan. She gestured for him to come back in, but when he held up his finger in the _one second_ gesture, she scoffed. 

“Levinski, hurry your ass up, I’m not letting you sit around talking about goddamn real estate prices mid-case.” Nathan shot his partner a death glare, trying to convey to her in as few words as possible (in this case, zero) the urgency of the call. 

She retreated back in the alley, joining in on a series of overlapping conversations about when the autopsy’s happening, if any new details emerged from the third victim, and if the MO was consistent with any previous cold cases. 

“Nathan, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. Based on what you’ve told me, this guy doesn’t veer out of the Circle. It’s a pattern.”

“Use your head, man. Remember some of the cases you did. Patterns can be broken.”

“They almost never are.”

“But what if the pattern isn’t location? What if it--it’s something else?”

“You can’t let this happen, Nathan?”

“Yeah, I know! I’m a cop, Bruce, my job is literally to stop this stuff from happening.” Bruce scoffed on the other end. 

“Not that, _this_. You can’t let yourself spiral. Mom’s gonna be fine, the killer has no reason to break a pattern as simple as location, and you have so little information to work with it can’t possibly be another MO.”

Bruce wanted to keep going, to help his brother out in this moment of weakness, but he knew his brother. Nathan was a tough guy. _He’ll be fine_ , Bruce rationalized, _he’s always had tougher skin than me_. 

“Listen, I gotta go, Miles is probably wondering where I am.”

Before Nathan could respond, Bruce hung up. He pulled his phone away and looked down at it, moisture on the glass and his face. He pulled his shirt up, wiped his phone on it, and started walking back to the inside of the cafe. 


	6. Chapter 5: Ryoken and Eleanor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryoken gets in an argument with his father, and Eleanor gets in one with her sister.

_ If nothing else, the bathtubs are fantastic _ , Ryoken conceded without much thought. 

In the years of travel he’d done, he found that nothing eased the nerves quite as much as a hot bath after a long plane ride. It wasn’t something he could do much as a kid, what with his brother constantly calling first dibs on the shower, but now, as a teenager traveling ahead of his family most of the time, Ryoken found he had absolutely no reason to  **not** partake of his guilty pleasure. They didn’t do it quite the same in America (putting the sink, toilet and bathtub into a single room, even when there was plenty of space to separate them, particularly irked Ryoken), but he allowed himself to forget about it, just once. 

Hot water surrounded his body, steam rolled up his chest and off his head, and his hair was becoming slick, either with sweat or condensation. He was utterly at ease and, for the first time in a while, calm. 

As a general rule, he tended to turn off his phone before taking a shower or bath. This time, the jetlag was too much, and he forgot, a revelation he didn’t have until it was too late. 

_ RING, RING, RING _

His eyes snapped open, his small, satisfied smile instantly transforming into a deep grin. He gave himself a quick facepalm at forgetting to turn his phone off, and immediately started weighing possibilities in his head. 

_ Should I reach over and decline it?  _ He considered.  _ No, that would be rude, it would be better to just silence it so it won’t distract me, but if I’m reaching over to grab it, I’d have to mostly get out of the water, and by that point, I might as well simply answer the damn thing.  _

He looked over at the cell phone, having slipped out of his pants and fallen mostly onto the white marble floor. The incessant ringing continued, and Ryoken made a mental note to change the damn thing into a song he at least somewhat enjoyed so as to dull the pain of answering phone calls. 

_ Maybe I should just see who the Caller ID is… _

He looked over at the name listed, and practically shot out of the tub to grab his phone, before slinking back into the comfort of the hot water, all within the span of two rings. 

“Father, what is it?” he answered. 

“Ryoken, how many times have we talked about this issue?” In an instant, Ryoken’s mind flashed back to the previous morning and his response to the reporters, and he realized he was in hot water in more ways than one. 

“Sir, I can expl--”

“I trusted you to simply pave the way,” Rayuki Fukunaga interrupted. “Just get the reporters ready, give them a taste of the Fukunaga family every year so things aren’t quite as bad when I arrive. And you manage to screw that up, too.”

“They kept confusing me for--”

“I  **know!”** Rayuki bellowed. “A reporter took a video with their phone, I saw the video, and I know. But I raised you better than this. I raised you to not have the manners of a slobbering ingrate, but you even refused to do that.”

“I didn’t mean to snap, I was exhausted.” It was a weak defense, and Ryoken knew it, but it was never in his nature to just sit down and let someone else belittle him. 

“I don’t care,” Rayuki said. “That’s not an excuse. I’ve been exhausted for most of my life, and you don’t see me cursing out the press.”

“I didn’t curse anyone out!” Ryoken shouted, words ringing throughout the bathroom. 

“I  **don’t care!”** Rayuki repeated. “You smeared the family name and disrespected your brother, yourself, and, most importantly, me. We’ll talk about this more tomorrow night, after the Gala. But rest assured, there will be consequences.”

“But--”

Click. 

Ryoken looked down at the phone in his hands, and he was now met with his lockscreen, a generic photo of a starry night. He found himself staring at it for the next couple of seconds, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. 

____________________

Her eyes were closed, strands of sandy blonde hair falling over her face. The air was blasting in her room, moving the sheets of her bed, flicking them up and down like waves on a beach. Next to her was the bedside table, her jacket draped across its corners. She was cross-legged on her bed. Nobody was around. Nobody to watch her. Nobody to report her. 

Eleanor held out her left hand, palm facing up at the ceiling. In such a heavily-monitored environment, it was getting harder and harder to find the time to do this, but she had to learn. If she didn’t, what was the point of even having this gift? 

She thought of what Nadia would say if she saw her. Some kind of plea for her safety, as if forgetting she was bedridden and they were the children of one of the original investors. Eleanor didn’t like to get cocky on a normal day, but considering the circumstances, she felt pretty safe. 

_ I’ve been helping Nadia so much, I very nearly forgot about them entirely _ , she thought.  _ I’ve barely had a free moment to myself _ . She dismissed the thought as soon as it entered her head; it felt too close to calling Nadia a nuisance or a chore. 

In spite of the cool air blowing on her back, a bead of sweat trickled down the left side of her neck.  _ I’ve had barely any time to practice _ ,  _ not since the day before Claus saw me.  _

Upon thinking this, her mind started to wander, but she couldn’t let it.  _ No! Don’t think about him! We can’t have that now! _

Refocusing her mind, just as her mother taught her, Eleanor took a deep breath. In, then out. In, then out. In…

She heard a light and quiet sound, crackling softly, like a bonfire on a campout. She dared to open her left eye, and saw a white rune glimmering in her hand, spanning from the tip of her pinky finger to the end of her wrist in diameter. 

“I did it,” she found the courage to say, after several seconds of staring at it. The rune took the form of three circles (an outermost layer, an innermost core, and a median ring) all spinning at different lengths. The rune had inscriptions on it, divided amongst three layers. Latin, she recalled.  _ I could find myself staring at this for hours,  _ she thought. She was almost embarrassed by how ridiculous it sounded, but a combination of her pride at achieving this and the time since she last cast a rune made the moment feel magical. 

But, like all other moments, it ended almost as soon as it started. 

“What are you doing!?” 

Eleanor turned around and made eye contact with Nadia, rolling over in her wheelchair. Instantly, her voice disrupted Eleanor’s concentration, and the rune disappeared, quick as it came. 

“No, no, no!” Eleanor’s cry started off as a whisper, but by the end, it was almost a yell. “Are you kidding me!” she shouted angrily at her sister, forgetting her sister’s concern, if only for a moment. 

“I could say the same thing,” Nadia coldly responded. Ever since they were young, they’ve always had two different responses to anger. Nadia tended to turn to sarcasm, cutting insults, and a generally passive-aggressive attitude that favored her tranquil fury. Eleanor was more direct, quick to genuine anger and straightforward (or uncaring) enough to show it. 

“That was the first rune I’ve been able to cast all month,” she said through a groan of frustration. 

“You idiot, that’s not important! What if there are hidden cameras in here? Security could be calling our father right now, or running up here as we speak, or both.”

At the mention of their father, Eleanor winced. Nadia pretended not to notice. “There aren’t any, I checked,” Eleanor said. 

“When?” Nadia questioned. Suddenly, a realization dawned on her. “Wait...you said you’ve been practicing for a month?”

“Yeah. First day here, I started looking around for the cameras. Turns out, there aren’t any in the bedrooms, and the ones that are here don’t have any sound.”

“Jesus, Eleanor, you moron,” Nadia pinched her eyes in frustration. “We’ve been here for two months. You mean to tell me that for half of that time, you’ve been practicing? What if housekeeping was coming in here? Or Heidi? Just because we don’t have cameras, doesn’t mean they couldn’t find out in other ways.” 

“How did you get into your wheelchair?” Eleanor asked, changing the subject. 

“I’m not some helpless little girl you need to coddle,” Nadia replied. “I did it myself. I thought you were taking a nap and I didn’t want to wake you, but I guess I was sorely mistaken.”

_ Yeah, you were _ , Eleanor bitterly thought to herself. “The doctor said you’re supposed to be in bed,” Eleanor shot back, “and I think it’d do you some good to listen to him.”

“I’m not going to take that advice, not now.” Nadia rolled forward a foot, leaning forward in her chair, a stern look on her face.

“Stop looking like that,” Eleanor told her, “You look like mom. That same pissed off, disappointed expression.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing, nor is it the worst of my concerns right now,” Nadia responded. “Mother would be furious right now.”

“I don’t care, and neither should you. I’m the older one, I need to take care of you, watch over you, not the other way around, ok? Besides, I need to practice. I need to  **learn** .”

“Not now!” Nadia practically shouted. “Maybe not  **ever** again. That’s what got her taken away in the first place.”

Eleanor didn’t want to face the obvious truth of their family situation, but the accuracy of her sister’s words felt like a stab to the heart. She could barely keep eye contact in spite of (or perhaps because of) her overwhelming annoyance. 

“So, what? You’re saying I should just renounce this gift? Nadia, people out there would  **kill** for this gift, to be able to do what I do!” She thought of the different runes at her disposal: Boost, Thread, Bind, and more that she wasn’t even close to mastering. 

“Other people will also kill you  **because** of that gift. Your carelessness could cost us both of our lives.”

“It won’t. I won’t let anything happen to you, understand?”

“Oh, quit it,” Nadia said with a dismissive wave of her hand. 

“Quit what? Being an older sister?”

“Being  **that** kind of older sister. You treat me like I’m made of glass. I’m literally telling you that your recklessness can cost us our lives, and you redirect it back at me. Make it all about how you want to keep me safe.” Eleanor got onto her feet and walked right past Nadia.  _ I’m sick of hearing this.  _ “You can’t walk away from this problem. It won’t go away,” Nadia warned her sister. 

“God! You’re always like this!” Eleanor challenged. “You’re so uptight you can never actually let me do  **anything** .”

“This isn’t about tomorrow still, is it?” Nadia took Eleanor’s silence as a yes. “Eleanor, if you get caught tomorrow doing exactly what our brother told us not to--”

“ **Half** -brother,” Eleanor corrected, “and he’s not going to know. Nobody is.”

“But why?!” Nadia questioned. “Why risk so much just to practice a few spells you’re never going to use, or to go to a party where no one knows who you are and you can’t do anything but  **look** ?” 

“Because it’s all we have!” Eleanor cried. “Our whole lives, we’ve had nothing. I only had magic all those years, and mom to teach us, and that’s it. Without mom, I don’t even have a teacher. And now, we’re living in an apartment I could’ve only dreamed of as a kid, with no one to bother us. Below us, we’re going to have the biggest party of the year, and I can’t even go? That’s not  **fair** .” 

She shook her head. Years of anger at the injustice of her situation starting to bubble and come to the surface. “That’s not fair,” she repeated, softly. Nadia said nothing. 

“You said this problem wouldn’t go away, but I know you. You wish it would. I need some air.” Eleanor grabbed her jacket off the table and started walking out. Nadia didn’t have enough time to turn the wheelchair around before Eleanor was already past her and heading for the door. 

“Where are you going!?” 

Nadia got no response. Just the sound of the door slamming. 


	7. Chapter 6: Eleanor and Noltu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor remembers when she first learned of her heritage, and the Golden Rebellion plans its assault.

Eleanor glanced up at the clock, a small, metal oval reading 6:43. Deciding this was close enough to their agreed-upon time, Eleanor opened up the apartment door and stumbled out onto the carpeted floor, maroon and violet. Grateful for the carpet cushioning the sound of her steps, she started walking down the narrow hallway. 

Rounding the corner, Eleanor came to the staircase she went out earlier in the day, where she and Heidi agreed to meet. She poked her head around the corner, finding no one. _Damn, she’s not here yet._

Eleanor walked over to the staircase and leaned against the adjacent wall, putting her left foot against it for balance, her shoe making a slight footprint on the cream-colored wall. _I suppose that’s what I get for storming off_. Eleanor considered going back and apologizing to Nadia, but it felt too late for that. Besides, such an apology would be hollow at best and insulting at worst. After all, why compromise on a belief you feel strongly about if nothing’s actually swayed your opinion?

Eleanor became so lost in her train of thought, she barely heard the elevator door open. Before she had time to move, a teenager emerged. He was tall, with messy black hair of medium-length. He was dressed like he had to go somewhere important, a black suit over a white shirt, and he looked exhausted. His Asian features gave him away as one of the Fukunaga siblings. 

Ryoken Fukunaga came to his apartment door. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the bronze keys given to him, the same bronze keys he got every year, and started to unlock his door. He felt a pair of eyes staring at him. 

Once he looked over at Eleanor, she quickly averted her gaze, trying not to draw attention to herself. She seemed like a perfectly plain teenager, what with her sandy blonde hair and average height, but what intrigued Ryoken most was her state of dress. Most of the kids staying this high up in the Tower were born with a silver spoon in their mouth, and tended to dress like royalty around this time of year; they certainly wouldn’t wear just a pair of dirty jeans and a leather jacket, and they certainly wouldn’t put their shoes against the wall (or even lean on it at all). Whoever she was, she didn’t seem like she belonged…

...but that wasn’t his problem. With a sound _click,_ his door unlocked and he walked in, half-suspecting he might see the girl tomorrow at the party. Not moments after he left did a pair of footsteps on the staircase redirect Eleanor’s attention away from the teenager and back to her original objective. 

The door swung open, and Eleanor found herself face-to-face with Heidi, a woman in her late 20s and a maid at the Tower. She jumped slightly upon seeing Eleanor, her hand reflexively going to her heart. 

“Jesus, Ellie, you scared me,” she said, a sunshine yellow dress draped across her left arm. 

“Don’t call me Ellie,” Eleanor flatly replied. Reaching into her wallet, she pulled out the cash and did a last-minute count to make sure she hadn’t screwed up her math. 

Heidi looked jittery, nervous. “I’m sure Nadia has already told you plenty, but--” 

“She has,” Eleanor interrupted, handing the crumpled bills to Heidi. 

“--but this is a really, really bad idea.” Eleanor crossed her arms as she faced Heidi. She was nearly a foot taller than the woman, the dress almost scraping the floors as she walked, and it felt weird for Eleanor to be looking down on somebody (literally) who was doing her a favor. Eleanor handed the $200 in cash to Heidi, who did her own count as Eleanor took the dress, soaking in its beauty. 

“I’ve...never worn anything quite like this.” The fabric was mesmerizing to her. The last time she wore something this nice was nearly a decade ago, the first (and last) time her family went to a Church. Even then, it was blown out of the water by this dress. Heidi wasn’t nearly as emotional. 

“Remember, if they find out, my ass is fired.” Heidi’s voice was a pitch or two higher than Eleanor’s; it amused the teenager, if only slightly, to hear such a voice (especially one belonging to an adult) swearing at her. 

Eleanor’s face had broken into a full-on smile by this point. Heidi’s words went in one ear and out the other. Heidi snapped, bringing Eleanor back to reality, in much the same way one would command a pet. 

“Hey, hey, pay attention! I’m serious here! And stop smiling, it’s weird.”

“That’s rude,” Eleanor bluntly responded. “What, have you never seen me smile before?"

The two thought back to their previous encounters in the last two months since Eleanor came here. Both drew a blank on the subject. “Wait, have I...never smiled?” Eleanor asked, slightly concerned. 

“Nope. Can’t recall you being happy in all the times we’ve talked,” Heidi responded matter-of-factly. 

“That’s...actually quite depressing.” Heidi shrugged, unaware of how to respond to the realization. Eleanor shook her head, focusing on the issue at hand. “But yes, I’m well aware of the stakes. I won’t get caught, and you won’t say anything about tomorrow. That is the deal, yes?” 

Heidi reluctantly nodded in agreement. After all, even if she did change her mind, how could she possibly spin this in a way that wouldn’t also incriminate her?

“I don’t even know why I’m doing this…” Heidi muttered. Eleanor gave her a pat on the shoulder. 

“Cheer up, you’re doing me a big favor.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel much better, actually,” Heidi told her. “What’s the big deal anyways? Why do you wanna do this so much?”

“Within the last few minutes, you and Nadia have both asked that question. I simply want to, but I cannot, so I feel the need to circumvent the rules imposed on me and join in on the fun anyways.” It was a simple, more watered-down (and far less emotional) explanation than the one given to Nadia, but it seemed to do. Heidi accepted it without a second thought, turned on her heels, and opened the door. 

Eleanor folded the dress over her arm, the same way Heidi did. The shorter woman was about to walk back, when she called back to Eleanor. 

“Hey, I think you gave me a bit extra? There’s another ten in here.”

“Keep the change,” Eleanor told her, the smile practically glued to her face now. “I’m feeling generous today.”

Despite the smile on her face, Eleanor was more nervous than she let on. Claus’ words bounced around in her mind, like the Windows Screen Saver icon bouncing around against the edges of the screen. Without initially realizing, Eleanor drifted into thought, flashing back to the first, last and only conversation she had with the enigmatic man...

_Three months prior. The night after the accident, Eleanor was given a time, date and address to meet at. Eleanor knew that she was entering into a whole new world, one she understood little about, but she didn’t care. This was perhaps the only time in her 17 years of existence she would find the answers she was looking for._

_She also fully acknowledged that if this wasn’t about her parentage, she would go down in history as one of the Top 10 dumbest kidnapping victims._

_Eleanor arrived at a small cafe, a “hole in the wall” kind of place. There were four other people there, two couples. The waitress, a tall woman with curly black hair, gave menus to each of them, but seemed to recognize Eleanor; she passed by Eleanor without saying a word, giving her a strange stare._

_Eleanor waited for 6 minutes before a car pulled up. It was a long vehicle, black and with tinted windows, like a limousine. A man stepped out of the back seat. He had sandy blonde hair, the same as Eleanor’s, but shorter and slicked back with product, and he was wearing a cream colored suit and tan pants. He shot a look at the waitress, then down at Eleanor herself. She suddenly felt horribly, terribly nervous for her own safety._

_“Eleanor, I presume?”_

_By all conventional accounts, he was an attractive man. Not particularly muscular, but even without an athlete’s physique, his well-groomed appearance, chiseled jaw, and soft, emerald eyes put him leagues above most of the other men his age Eleanor knew in terms of sheer attractiveness._

_Eleanor said nothing. Falling back on one of her oldest tricks, she adopted a stoic, silent persona in a stressful, anxiety-inducing situation. She motioned for him to take a seat, taking charge, as if she was the one that called the meeting. He followed her instructions and sat down, eager to get the ball rolling._

_“I’m Claus. You may have heard of me.”_

_She said nothing. Quite frankly, she had no idea who this man was, but he seemed eerily familiar, like staring into a mirror, or recognizing an old classmate years later. He took her silence as a “no”._

_“That’s quite alright,” he assured. “I’m not here to discuss my reputation, but I am here to discuss my father’s. He’s quite a bit more famous than I am, I’m almost certain you’ve heard of him.” If Eleanor wasn’t so nervous, she would’ve rolled her eyes. She already knew where this conversation was going._

_“His name is Charles Oberin.” Eleanor’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates, a sight Claus smiled at. It was a thin, reptilian grin, and it disappeared from his face almost instantly._

_“... so you have heard of him.”_

_“Anyone over the age of 10 has,” Eleanor retorted._

_“Ah, she speaks. Excellent. That’ll make this a bit easier.” He reached into his suit and pulled out an envelope, handing it over to Eleanor. A red wax seal in the shape of a C stared back at her, the symbol of Charles Oberin and his family. She looked up at him, confused._

_“Open it,” he commanded. Uncharacteristically, Eleanor did as she was told. Inside the envelope, she found three items: two cards (one Debit, and one Credit), and a bronze key. Her mouth fell open slightly._

_“See, Eleanor, my father is a man with a strong moral compass. He believes that right and wrong are as simple as black and white, day and night. He also has a somewhat...well, I suppose you could consider it a variation of karma.”_

_“You mean--”_

_“_ **_Don’t_ ** _,” Claus nearly shouted, “interrupt me.”_

_Eleanor shrank back in her chair. Claus rolled his eyes, a look on his perfect face indicating he wanted to be somewhere--anywhere--but here, having this conversation. He seemed almost embarrassed by it. Ashamed, even._

_She was barely following a word this guy was saying. Her heart was pounding in her chest. A million feelings ran through her mind--fear, anticipation, confusion._

_“In his karmic view of the world, those with power have the ability to make change. And those with such power have an obligation to use it for good. Specifically, to right the wrongs of the past. Once my father found out about your mother, he unearthed a wrong that deserved to become right. His words, not mine.”_

_Eleanor thought back to the days following her mother’s death. It was all a blur: visiting Nadia in the hospital, sobbing, going days at a time without sleep or food. Strangest of all, she was informed of a specific benefactor covering the funeral and hospital bills. She barely had time to think of it in the weeks that followed, but ever since the initial wave of grief passed and her head’s become clear, the curiosity’s been gnawing away at her._

_“To put it bluntly and skip any further theatrics...Charles Oberin is your father. Your mother was his mistress. He was unaware you or your sister were ever born.”_

_The entire world seemed to move in slow motion. All else became irrelevant._

_“So, that makes you my...bro--”_

_“Absolutely not,” Claus interjected. “I was born in wedlock, and raised by my parents alongside the rest of my brothers and sisters. We aren’t in the same tier. For all intents and purposes, Eleanor, you and Nadia don’t exist. That key will unlock a room on the top floor of the Tower of Hope. The first card will be used to regularly pay for any of Nadia’s medical bills, and the second for food. My father will control how much money goes into each account, and at what times. He intends to give you the hospitality he feels you deserve, as kin of the Oberin family, but let me make this clear.”_

_His eyes narrowed, and seemed to darken. He leaned across the table slightly, barely an inch. But all of a sudden, he felt way too close._

_“You are not an Oberin. And neither is your sister. From this day forward, you are now Eleanor Haley, and she is Nadia Perry.”_

_He rose to his feet, leaving Eleanor behind, having barely said a word or moved a muscle throughout the entire interaction._

_“You are to stay out of sight. If the public finds out you or your sister exist, my father’s reputation would be ruined. So stay away from other patrons of the Tower, and during events, you are to stay in your room at all times. If anyone finds out about you, believe me, there will be_ **_severe_ ** _consequences.”_

_He left and got back into the car, without another word. Eleanor’s hands were clenched so tightly into fists, her skin started to turn white._

...That entire conversation felt like a blur, but it all came back to Eleanor effortlessly. She couldn’t stop hearing Claus’ voice, his **threats** , but she didn’t care. This was her time to shine. 

____________________

Green Meadows. One of the most dangerous places in Los Angeles, with a reputation that had only worsened over the years. In general, Noltu Flame tried to avoid two main things: sticking out like a sore thumb, and putting himself in risky situations for long periods of time. 

Currently, the very neighborhood he was in meant that he was violating the second rule, and his current appearance meant he was violating the first. Granted, it was entirely unintentional, and there weren’t too many people around to even notice him, but still, being 6’1” and wearing a black jacket wasn’t making him look too good right now, given the context. 

He was in front of the place Evan told him to go to. Some kind of club, loud and filthy. Noltu was already feeling dirty just thinking about that place, but he tried to keep his calm. He checked and double-checked the piece of paper Noltu gave him:

 _My informant told me that Alaska Leones will be in the abandoned factory, just outside of Green Meadows. She told me the numbers on the bottom of the flyer weren’t an address, but coordinates for where to meet in the city. Just go in and ask to speak to Alaska, her guards should let you in_. 

Noltu read every word, then put the paper back in his pocket, examining the flyer Evan gave him the day prior. Sure enough, the numbers were scribbled on the bottom. But this didn’t ease the anxiety creeping in the back of his mind. _I can just go in? And they’ll let me?_ He thought. _Wow, either they must be desperate, or these bouncers are horrible at their jobs_. 

Turns out, it was neither. 

A wave of teenagers and young adults started coming up to the opening from the side. Noltu made his way in the middle, trying his best to blend in, but to no avail. He was mere inches away from walking into the lot when a thick hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back, reversing his momentum and pushing him against the crowd. 

“I haven’t seen you around here before, new guy.” The bouncer stood a head taller than Noltu and wore a thin, gray shirt and white pants, with two golden earrings on his left ear. On his brown leather belt, Noltu could make out in the dim-lit street a glimmering piece of silver: the handle to a barely-concealed pistol. 

“I’m here to speak to your boss, Alaska.” Noltu stood his ground, maintaining his composure, but it made no difference. 

“Tough luck, kid. Everyone’s trying to see her, trying to get a big part for tomorrow. Besides, I don’t think you really...fit in with us.”

The bouncer looked out at the sea of recruits coming in, all with long hair, piercings and studs of some kind or another, and some semblance of gold or yellow on their clothing...before looking back at Noltu himself, his hair styled in short messy spikes and his jacket an obsidian black. 

_Dammit, Evan,_ Noltu thought to himself. _I knew it wouldn’t be so easy_. 

Noltu leaned in a bit, looking behind him to make sure there were no other groups of recruits and members alike comign in, before dropping his voice a few notches in volume. 

“Look,” he said, barely a whisper, “she trusts you right? I’d like to show you something.”

The man raised one eyebrow in suspicion, hand slightly moving closer to the firearm strapped to his belt, but allowing Noltu enough room to do what he wanted. Noltu leaned forward a tad bit more and held out his left palm, then his right hand to cover the sight from anyone watching. 

In his left hand, he manifested a Rune, scarlet and spiraling. 

“I’m like her, see? I’m a Mage.”

It was the first time in years Noltu had uttered those words, and it felt magnificent as it left his lips. He looked up at the guard, now nodding in agreement, and he put a hand on Noltu’s shoulder. 

“The boss has been expecting you lot,” he said. “C’mon, I’ll take ya to her.”

The man pulled Noltu inside, and the two started walking together, pushing past the crowds of recruits and current members alike, two figures of black and gray moving against a sea of shining metal and gold. 

Eventually, the two reached a door, barely visible as such. Both the wall and door were painted with a coat of black, the only indicator it was anything but a piece of drywall being a small line of light on the side. The man gave it two booming, sturdy knocks and turned back to Noltu. 

“My name’s Hector, by the way.” He spoke with what sounded like a New York accent, though Noltu was never great at identifying such divergences in the English language. He still kept a stoic expression, but his posture shifted slightly, standing more upright as if becoming more formal and showing more respect for his superior. 

The door swung open, but the recruits around them barely seemed to notice. Hector took the first step forward, Noltu following a moment behind him. Once inside, Noltu got a glimpse of another person wearing white and gray, the woman holding the door, who gave him a cold, unblinking stare. 

At the end of the hallway, Noltu found himself at some kind of hidden meeting room. A circular desk of scratched wood laid in the center, with one woman already sitting in a nearby chair. 

“Leones, this is the first of the night,” Hector said as he gave Noltu a push forward. Noltu stumbled forward for a moment, before regaining his balance just as the woman looked up from her book.

Her hair was white as snow, yet she seemed to be only Noltu’s age, maybe a few years older. It was long, easily coming down to her waist, but what stood out to Noltu the most were her _eyes._ They were a deep red, the color of fresh blood. He had to remind himself why he was here. He had an objective, and he would not get distracted. 

Hector walked out the room, leaving the two alone. Alaska looked Noltu up and down; her expression was stone-faced, without a hint of emotion in her features to indicate what she was thinking one way or another. The uncertainty of that scared Noltu more than he’d like to admit. 

“Show me.”

Alaska’s voice was quiet, yet neither gentle nor soft. Noltu nodded in agreement and held both hands out. This time, he tried a different spell, and mere moments later, one large Rune, spinning and glowing a light green color, appeared in his hands. The Rune of Restoration. 

“So you’re a healer?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied. The Rune started to shift and change colors, becoming a deep scarlet. The Rune of Detonation. “I can be anything you need me to be,” Noltu told her, dispersing the Rune from his hands. He pulled out and took a seat in one of the chairs, putting his hands on the table. “I just want to work alongside the Golden Rebellion for tomorrow’s invasion. That’s all I ask.”

“Only my most trusted advisors will be operating at the Invasion, tomorrow,” she coldly replied. “We have no room for someone like you.”

“Someone like me? Leones, I’m like the rest of you.” He rolled up his left sleeve to reveal a tattoo: the C and M of the Clamaria Institution, the two letters laced together into one symbol. 

“Hm. You’re not from around here, are you?” He shook his head no. “Most of the Mages that come this way tend to be from Magerth, or Valis, dreadful place it was. Dropouts or deadbeats, but useful in larger numbers.” Noltu nodded in agreement, not eager to interrupt her train of thought. 

“I went to Malora myself, they taught me everything I know today and then some. Got out and didn’t look back. That was two years ago.” Almost wistful about her own past, she seemed to drift away from their conversation. Nostalgia filled her dead eyes. 

“You seem rather young to be organizing such a large-scale assault.” She laughed. It was a dry, bored sound. 

“Mere moments ago, you called me ‘ma’am’, Mr. Noltu. Do you recall? I’m quite certain I’m younger than you. I’m 24.”

“19 myself,” he replied, maintaining his emotionless expression. She laughed again. “My oh my, you have the face and build of a man in his late 20s.” Noltu shrugged, adjusting his coat. 

“I get that a lot.” Alaska leaned forward in her chair, pulling the conversation back to its original objective. 

“I was expecting some from Valis, mostly. I hate to disappoint you, but you’re not like the rest of us. Not as much as you think.” Noltu’s face fell slightly, but he allowed her to continue. “We don’t have too many from your school,” she continued. Her eyes traced the tattoo as she spoke. “Most of us are from Malora...but I see no reason that should sway my decision.” 

“And your decision is…?” he inquired. 

Alaska looked Noltu in his brown eyes. “You got here first, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You won’t be a Vanguard tomorrow night, you’ll be support. I can’t do much more for you.”

He nodded, understanding. “That’s all I ask, ma’am.”


	8. Chapter 7: Ryoken and Eleanor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The annual Gala at the Tower of Hope has begun! As Eleanor prepares to crash the party, Ryoken has to deal with his sister-in-law and the first wave of guests.

24 hours later. The 23rd Annual Gala of Hope was in its opening stages. Frankly, this was Ryoken’s least favorite part of the night. 

His black, messy hair had been combed for the event, but little else about it had changed. He wore a simple tuxedo, thin and tight, highlighting his slender, tall frame. The jacket he wore was light gray. Ryoken fidgeted with a silver ring on his right middle finger. 

Not enough people had arrived yet, and it was already 8:00 in the evening. In larger crowds (filled with individuals much more deserving of fame than he was), he could simply blend in and move through the partygoers like a canoe through a river. Currently, there weren’t enough people to achieve this effect, leading to his least favorite thing in the world: small talk. 

“How’s the family business going?”  _ How would I know? It’s not my business.  _

“What’ve you been up to?”  _ School and partying.  _

“How’re you and Zoey?”  _ I haven’t talked to her in 6 months, thanks for asking.  _

Dreadful, really. 

His mood didn’t improve much after that. Like migrating deer, many of the press crowded around the entrance started to shift positions and locations at 8:10, on the dot. Ryoken got his brother’s text earlier; this wasn’t a surprise, but it didn’t please him either. Some of the questions were relevant to the current circumstances, others...not so much. 

“Mr. Fukunaga, what’re your plans for the business year?”

“What are your thoughts on the new Board member?”

“How do you feel about Ms. Oberin giving the opening speech tonight?”

“How’s the wedding planning?”

“You’re father’s paying for everything, right?”

“Are the rumors true about Kamala’s family?”

Ryoken tried to be a self-aware individual, the kind of person who could look at their own faults and change them. Right now, despite his own frustration with the press and small talk, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of envy and frustration boil in him. He tried to push it down, to tell himself that he wouldn’t appreciate the spotlight, that he  **doesn’t** appreciate the spotlight. 

_ It was time to think of different things _ . 

A waiter walked by, a tray of drinks on his silver platter. Ryoken’s arm shot out, plucking on of the glasses, and he barely gave the liquid any thought before it was already down his throat. “I could use some liquid courage right about now,” he muttered to himself, as he went to greet his brother and future sister-in-law. 

Cutting around the reporters and their questions, he moved to the leftmost part of the lobby, pressing his body against the marble wall and had to practically wiggle his way through. Once he emerged from the masses, he got a better look. 

Raio was dressed similarly to Ryoken, but the jacket of his tux was a couple of shades darker. He was shorter than Ryoken, his hair a tint lighter and two inches shorter, slicked back for the night. Around his arm was Kamala Krishna-Fukunaga, daughter of the CEO of Krishna Tech and Raio’s fiance. 

Her thick, dark hair came a few inches past her shoulder in curls. She wore a dark magenta dress that ended just above her ankles, and she wore white heels that put her at Raio’s height. Silver hoop earrings brought out her blue eyes and tan skin, and accented the wide smile on her face as she posed for the tabloids. 

_ She seems like a perfectly decent woman _ , Ryoken admitted to himself. He had no reason to believe she was anything otherwise; she never struck him as terribly offensive, sardonic, unintelligent, or sinister. The company she was set to inherit within a few years seemed to be in the higher echelons of the tech industry, producing especially top-notch quality in the last decade. He was sure his brother would be a very happy man with her, if their conversations were anything to judge by. 

...if only Ryoken himself could be so happy. 

“Brother, it’s good to see you.” 

It was the first time Raio heard Japanese in several weeks, but the switch was effortless. Ryoken’s statement effortlessly cut through the endless questions, and Raio turned around immediately. His face lit up once the two made eye contact. He pulled away from Kamala, the two turning to face the teenager

“Likewise, Ryoken. It’s been a while,” Raio said as he stepped forward. He pulled Ryoken into a tight hug (which Ryoken predicted would be on the front cover of some gossipy tabloids within the night), a gesture that at once surprised Ryoken and greatly diminished his frustration. 

Raio pulled away. For whatever reason, Ryoken didn’t want the hug to end. “How’ve you been?” Raio innocently asked. 

“Alright,” Ryoken lied, his words flat and lack any truth or feeling. It was harder to achieve this effect in Japanese; his tone of voice tended to shine clearer in his native tongue. Raio gave him a pat on the shoulder and gestured to Kamala. “Dear, you remember my brother, yes?” he asked, back to English again. 

Kamala nodded in agreement, still carrying the fake Tabloid smile on her face. “It’s good to see you again, Ryoken,” she said, reaching her hand out. Ryoken shook it, but the extra spotlight made him uneasy. 

“How’s Zoey?” Kamala asked, just as innocent as Raio. Ryoken’s face fell and his frown deepened further (if that was even possible). 

“She’s...good, I guess,” was the answer he decided on. He never quite knew how to respond when people asked him that question. 

“Don’t you turn 18 in just a few days? That’s so exciting!” Kamala proclaimed. Ryoken wanted to do something--anything--to seem more normal around Kamala right now, even something as small as faking a smile, but the subject was unbearable to talk about, considering the connotations associated with it. 

“Here, let’s find our seats,” Raio said, putting his arm back on Kamala’s shoulder. He led his wife-to-be and younger brother out of the crowd. Ryoken was thankful to have another person here to help him through nights like tonight. 

The three walked down together, Ryoken a step behind Raio and Kamala, who each grabbed a drink off the platter of the same waiter from earlier.  _ I hope they didn’t see me drink _ , Ryoken nervously thought to himself, but he dismissed the notion just as quickly. 

“What was that about you not giving the opening speech?” Ryoken finally asked, after the three walked in silence for several seconds. Raio dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. 

“Nothing important. Oberin’s granddaughter is doing it now, but I don’t mind.” 

Ryoken stopped dead in his tracks. “When’d that happen?”

Raio shrugged. He seemed unconcerned with it. “When was it Kamala? Just a week ago?” She nodded in affirmation. Ryoken wanted to facepalm. Why was his brother acting so clueless and uncaring about this now? 

“You’re acting like its no big deal,” Ryoken told Raio in a tone that was more vitriolic than he intended. Raio narrowed his eyes in confusion. 

“It’s...not. It’s just some speech.”

“It’s a massive deal and a huge honor for anyone who’s offered it. What does Father think?”

“Is that what this is about? You’re wanting to impress dad or something?” Raio said in an accusatory tone. 

“No, I’m concerned about what he thinks about you. I can’t imagine he was happy when you told him about it,” Ryoken retorted. Raiyuki Fukunaga was a very meticulous man, and one who was always concerned about appearances and advancing the family in any meaningful way possible; it seemed uncharacteristic for him to not care about such an easy opportunity to promote their family. 

“He’s already known for a while,” Raio said. The smile was long gone from his face, and as the two brothers debated, Kamala caught the eye of another visitor. 

“Dear, I’m going to find my family, they should be here any second now. Be back in a sec,” she told Raio. He flashed her a warm smile, the kind that had no doubt been practiced and perfected for dozens of hours in front of a mirror. “I’ll join you guys in a second,” he told her, voice warm as a bonfire and smooth as honey. She walked away from the two Fukunaga siblings, and Raio looked back up at Ryoken, the smile disappearing once more. 

“Look, it’s no big deal. I’ll catch up with you later, but right now, I’m gonna go be with Kamala.” Ryoken never did like how cold Raio could be around him. “You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

Despite Raio’s words, Ryoken knew they were a lie, a formality. Why would Raio Fukunaga, an emerging leader in Japan’s technology industry, want to bring his moody younger brother along while talking with in-laws? Ryoken nodded in understanding, but both brothers knew that the offer wasn’t going to be taken. 

Ryoken and Raio turned and walked in their seperate directions, Ryoken resolving to stay away from his family for the night, at least until he saw his father. 

____________________

“You’re not going to launch into some big, last-minute speech about why this is reckless? Not that I’m inviting such a response, I’m just surprised.”

Eleanor looked in the bathroom mirror, now wearing the sunlight yellow dress Heidi gave her earlier and examining herself. In her reflection, she saw Nadia, still in the wheelchair and with an enigmatic look that could’ve meant anything from acceptance to continuing disappointment. 

“I’m not fine with you going, but there’s nothing I can do to physically make you stay. Any formulated response I had about this topic, I’ve already delivered to you,” Nadia noted. “My words have minimal effect and we’re both too stubborn to compromise, but you have the ability to actually go anyway.

Eleanor froze when Nadia finished her sentence. Guilt washed over Eleanor, and she tried unsuccessfully to push the emotion from her mind.  _ How could I leave Nadia here?  _ She immediately questioned, but countered the argument as soon as it popped into her head.

_ No, Nadia’s 15 now. She might be in a wheelchair, but she’s still an adult. I leave her here to go shopping all the time, it’s no big deal.  _

Eleanor turned around to face Nadia, platinum hair draping over the younger girl’s left shoulder and left eye, and she thought of their argument the day before.  _ Nadia hates it when I’m so overprotective of her, right? So, I shouldn’t feel guilty _ ,  _ right? _

On the other hand, Nadia was a clever girl, and always had been, ever since she was young. Eleanor acknowledged the possibility that their conversation up until this point was just getting Eleanor to drop her guard so Nadia could guilt her into staying, but again, Eleanor dismissed this thought.  _ That seems too mischevious for her,  _ Eleanor reasoned. 

“You really mean that?” Eleanor asked, trying to hide her own internal debate. 

“Sure,” Nadia admitted. “There’s nothing that can make you stay without violating Claus’ rules by contacting Tower security.” 

“Wow,” Eleanor said softly. “...that might be the first time you’ve admitted you’re stubborn.”

A beat. Nadia burst out laughing. 

“You’re  **spectacularly** missing the point here,” she said. Eleanor started to chuckle herself.  _ My god, it’s been a while since I’ve heard that laugh _ . 

“Are you sure you have everything you need?” Eleanor asked. Nadia’s laugh faded as quickly as it came, but the faint remnants of a smile lingered. She nodded her head “yes.”

A blanket of silence fell over the two sisters, and in the silence, Nadia’s anxiety returned. She couldn’t help herself. “But, Eleanor, please,” Nadia pleaded, “just don’t get yourself killed. Don’t do anything stupid. We have a good system going here.”

“I know, I know.”

“I just don’t want anything to mess that up.”

Eleanor looked down it Nadia. God, the younger girl was so much like their mother it  **hurt** . 

“Wow. You...really don’t have that much faith in me, do you?”

Nadia’s face fell. Disappointment, of an almost maternal form, covered her face. “That’s not what I mean.”

Eleanor sighed. This was supposed to be a fun night, one of impossibly rare circumstances that would break her otherwise monotonous daily routine. How lucky was she to not only get a chance to be in this building, but during this time of year no less? Would she and Nadia even be here a year from now? Would this chance ever arise again? She couldn’t squander such a rare opportunity for herself by dwelling on such an argument. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Eleanor said. She started to walk to the door, past Nadia. For a second, the younger girl envied her sister, for being able to move beyond the confines of this damn room, but before that emotion could even complete itself in her mind, a new feeling took hold: regret. 

Nadia never liked fighting of any kind, and especially not with the only real family she had left. For a split-second, she wanted to apologize, to take back what she said and wish Eleanor a good time, even if it meant putting on a fake smile and swallowing her pride. 

But the chance didn’t show itself. Eleanor closed the door to the room, leaving Nadia alone. Again. 


	9. Chapter 8: Miles, Eleanor, and Lestel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor and Miles arrive at the Gala and become fast friends.

“It’s HUGE!”

Matt Lawman, 12 years old and already quick as a whip, looked out the tinted window of his father’s car. The sudden climb in volume made his mother wince slightly in the front passenger seat. 

“Matthew,  _ shh _ . You can’t be that loud inside.” If Matt heard her, he didn’t respond. Viola Lawman shot a look behind her at her youngest son, and found he was still entranced with the sight of the Tower, its mesmerizing lights completely encompassing his focus to the point of barely noticing his own mother. 

Viola wore a solid indigo dress, coming down to her knees and covering her arm from the shoulder to just above the elbow. It naturally suited her black heels and accented her glassy caramel eyes. Her naturally curly cinnamon hair had been painstakingly straightened for the night. 

Miles, Matt and Bruce all wore relatively similar outfits. Nothing fancy enough to get anyone’s attention, but passable. Simple black-and-white two-piece suits, with the only distinguishing features being corresponding tie color and size. Bruce had a solid color black tie, same as everyone else he was working with in Lawman Security tonight, but Miles’ was gold and Matt’s was a light green. 

Miles adjusted his tie, pulling on the center knot and slightly loosening the entire article. “Miles, you better not be taking that thing off,” his mother warned him. Viola looked up at the rearview mirror and made eye contact with her son, who took his hand off the golden silk upon meeting her gaze. 

“I’m not, ma, these suits are just ridiculously hot,” he said, hoping nobody would notice the sweat stains on his clothing. He prayed the inside would be air conditioned. For now, he had to settle with the car’s air conditioning, blasting him and his brother with as much cold air as it could handle. 

“Yeah, what was wrong with our own clothes?” Matt questioned. “Why couldn’t we just wear those, instead of renting this new stuff?”

“Didn’t look nice enough,” Bruce muttered, tired of repeating the same explanation to both his sons in the last day. “Don’t think about the clothes,” he advised his sons, “that’s not what tonight’s about.”

“Well, don’t  **not** think about them either,” Viola corrected. “These cost enough as is, we don’t need to pay for cleaning bills either if one of you spills something.”

Traffic slowed to a snail’s pace as they got closer, much to Matt’s chagrin. Miles out the window, and couldn’t shake the anxiety he felt at not belonging. He hoped it would go away.

“Dad, what kind of food will they have there?” Matt asked, his leg bobbing up and down slightly. 

“I don’t know, son. You and mom will have to find out,” Bruce replied. He rolled the window of the driver’s seat down and poked his head out, just enough to find that there were still a couple miles of borderline standstill traffic ahead of them. 

“Dad, roll it back down,” Miles told his father, “you’ll let all the cold air out.”

“I have to, Miles! I need to see how far we--”

“LAWMAN!”

An unfamiliar male voice called out the family name. The entire family looked to the direction of the voice, all turning their heads to the right in unison as they found the source. One of Bruce’s employees, a tall man in his early 30s wearing a “Lawman Security” shirt, waving at Bruce. Once he got their collective attention, he gestured to an adjacent, unoccupied lane splitting off their own and pointed to a sign reading “For Security Personnel.”

“Sweet!” Matt cried, as Bruce rolled the driver’s seat window back up. After withstanding a few more seconds of the traffic, the family car slowly broke away and drifted off, driving down the road and coming to a stop once they reached the employee. 

“Mr. Lawman, sir, some of the security personnel are already there, waiting for you and your family. We’ll show you where your seats are inside, just follow this path first.”

Bruce gave the man a thumbs up and rolled his window back up, returning to a normal driving pace as he went down the new road and into an adjacent parking lot to the side of the main one. It was notably smaller, but considering the size of the building that wasn’t saying much. Rows upon rows of cars still flooded the building. These weren’t the extravagant, shining red, blue, black and purple automobiles of the charity representatives and investors, however; the lot consisted mostly of large vans, LAPD police vehicles, and a few normal-sized cars bearing the names of security businesses Miles only vaguely knew of. 

The family pulled into a particular wing labeled “Lawman Security” and found a spot towards the front. Not many of the other members were there, just a few bringing their spouses and children along, same as Bruce. The Lawman family emerged, and Bruce grabbed a duffel of spare clothes to change into. 

“Alright, everyone, have fun, I’ll see you later tonight,” he said. Viola walked around the front of the car and wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck, pulling him back in for a goodbye kiss. She was practically beaming when he pulled away. 

“I’m so excited,” Viola told him in a half-whisper. Bruce couldn’t resist cracking a smile himself. 

“I know. This is gonna be fun for everyone,” he told her. “Matt, Miles, you two better behave tonight.”

“We will dad,” Miles told him, a smile on his face. 

__________________________

The interior was like a TARDIS: bigger on the inside than what seemed humanly possible. 

To be fair, this had to do with how the initial floors of the Tower were constructed. It was technically 4 different floors, connected by a series of staircases and suspended bridges; the whole area stood at about 60 feet tall, and was most evocative of the name “Tower” than any other part of the massive building. 

Miles, Viola and Matt all emerged from a side entrance, and immediately Miles broke away from them. He loved his family, but at the moment, he wanted neither Matt’s running commentary on everything, nor did he desire Viola’s criticism of said commentary. They barely noticed, either. 

As time passed, that childlike wonder and glee that so captivated Matt in the car did the same with Miles. Truly, the building was as beautiful as it was when he visited the day prior, if not more so, now that the decorating was complete and the lights were all gathered and activated. Waiters and patrons alike moved in every possible direction, but Miles barely focuses…

...until one of them ran right into him. 

Snapping back to reality, Miles and the girl let out simultaneous apologies. 

“Excuse me!” he said, a bit more nervously than he realized. 

“Sorry,” Eleanor Haley quickly muttered. “That was on me.”

“No, no, I wasn’t paying attention,” he stammered out. “Sorry. Again.”

Eleanor examined him. He didn’t strike her as the same as everyone else. Granted, her interactions with people that weren’t staff and weren’t Nadia had been limited in the last couple of months, but he seemed...different. He was quick to apologize, and seemed anxious. He didn’t carry himself like the other people here did, the people like Claus. 

“You’re fine,” she told him. She probably sounded a bit angrier than intended, but that was fine. “What’s your name?”

“Who? Me?” Miles asked. Eleanor resisted the urge to roll her eyes. 

“I’m not talking to anyone else,” she replied. Miles thought about it for a second, partygoers and staff alike passing them in a blur as he spoke. 

“I’m Miles,” he said, confidence slightly higher than it was moments ago as he reached out his hand. “Miles Lawman. My dad’s a security guard here, so that’s how I got in.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “So you aren’t like, super rich and snobby or anything.” Miles laughed. 

“Nope. I live with my parents and brother in a three-room apartment in downtown LA. I don’t belong here.” Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh a bit at his honesty. 

“What?” he asked, slightly offended. Eleanor held her hand up to her mouth and her light laughter devolved into a soft chuckle. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing. You’re just really...real?”

“Real?”

“Yeah,” Eleanor said. “You’re honest with me, you strike me as humble and blunt, you’re nothing like them. Their fancy clothes, their fake smiles, their extravagant parties...that’s not you. I like that.” 

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fidgeting a bit. “It’s really nice,” she said, “especially here. It’s like a breath of fresh air.”

She was the first person Miles had really talked to all night that wasn’t a member of the family, and he started to realize that his assumptions about the people coming here might’ve been inaccurate. Despite a somewhat stand-offish nature, she was polite to him in a way he hadn’t expected. 

“I could say the same about you,” he replied. “Are you in the same boat?”

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

“I mean: are you also here just because of some of the new security rules? About guards bringing family along?”

Eleanor hadn’t even considered this was some kind of policy change. Granted, she had never been to a party such as this before, and she had no prior knowledge of the Galas. She simply assumed Miles was an exception to the rule. 

“Uh...yeah. Something like that.” Her refusal to elaborate intrigued Miles, but he decided not to pry. 

“Do you want to find a seat?” he asked. He hadn’t been expecting to find another teenager--or really, another person at all--he wouldn’t mind spending the night with, but what the hell. The two seemed to have pretty immediate chemistry. 

“I think seats are assigned,” she muttered, awkwardly rubbing her arm. 

“Not a problem,” he said, “let’s just find one of the party planners or go back to the entrance. Surely, someone can tell you where your family is.”

Guilt pierced Eleanor as she thought back to Nadia, dozens of floors above them, but she pushed it away. “Actually, I’m not supposed to be here. Like, I literally don’t have a seat or anything.”

Realization dawned on Miles.  _ Did she just say what I think she just said _ , he thought to himself. “D-did you sneak in here or something?” he asked, stammering slightly out of nervousness. 

Eleanor wanted to slap Miles for speaking so loud and carelessly, and she wanted to slap herself for saying anything at all.  _ Of course this wouldn’t work!  _ She thought to herself.  _ Did I actually convince myself I could go by the whole night unnoticed? They have everything planned to the minute here.  _

Miles took Eleanor’s silence as a yes. A grin broke out on his face. “Hey, that’s pretty cool. Wanna come sit at my family’s table? There should be room, I think my mother and brother are wandering around right now.”

Eleanor was not expecting that response. “Really?”

“Sure,” he told her. “C’mon, I’ll lead the way. If anyone asks, I’ll just say you’re a classmate I didn’t realize was gonna be here.”

Miles turned around and walked back the way he came. Eleanor followed behind him. Individually of one-another, both realized that blending in was so much easier when in good company. 

______________

“It’s getting mighty crowded in there, huh?”

Nathan Levinski’s rhetorical question bounced off the walls of the back entrance, barely heard over the sound of the party raging and the police cars arriving. To his left, his partner, Rose, was leaning against the brick wall; and to his right, the new girl looked off into the distance, a pensive expression on her face. 

“Say, new kid, what’s your name?” Nathan asked the girl to his right. She opened her mouth to respond, but Rose beat her to the punch. 

“It’s Prism, Levinski. Lestel Prism, right?” Rose asked. Lestel nodded. “Please excuse me partner,” Rose told her, “he’s horrible with names. It took him 3 weeks to remember mine, and I spent every goddamn day with him.”

Lestel laughed, the sound piercing the night sky. It wasn’t some dry, barely-amused chuckle, but the lively laugh normally associated with a child. Nathan and Rose hadn’t heard her laugh before, hadn’t heard her say much of anything in the few weeks she’d been here. She was a new detective, looking to only be in her late 20s at the most. She still felt uncomfortable wearing the badge; the metal felt foreign on her clothing. 

“Where’d you transfer from, Prism?” Nathan asked Lestel. “Sweet name, by the way.”

Lestel ran a hand through her white hair, trying to hide the light blush on her pale face. “Thanks,” she told him. Her voice was quiet, a bit timid for someone of her profession, but clear enough for Nathan and Rose to hear. “I’m here from Chicago.”

“What brings you out here?” Nathan continued. Rose gave a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Jesus, Levinski, give the new kid a rest,” she mumbled. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Nathan exclaimed, voice comically loud. “I’m just trying to get to know our coworker.” Lestel raised an eyebrow, wondering why Rose seemed so bothered. 

“I really don’t mind,” she said, speaking up a bit. “I just needed a change of scenery, that’s all. Nothing complicated.”

She was getting better at this. At faking normality. At faking a past. 

“And you came here?” Nathan said with a laugh. “There are places prettier than LA for miles on end.” His smile disappeared, and his tone became slightly more jaded, more cynical. “Besides, with some of the shit that happens here...it’s not a great place for a cop to be in.”

“You’re a cop, Levinski,” Rose interjected, “and you live here. What’s your excuse?”

“I grew up here,” Nathan told her. “I’ve lived my whole life in LA. Leaving now...it just wouldn’t be right. I can’t imagine transferring here, especially with all the new rebel attacks.”

Lestel thought back to what she’d read. All the new groups--the Golden Rebellion, the Silent Clan, the Black Order--that all started surfacing in the last few months. Most of them were starting to get deadlier and deadlier, with more Mages and Unknowns joining their ranks, alongside a few stray Oracles. 

“That’s what we’re here for,” Rose told him. “To stop people like that. That’s literally our job.”

“All I’m saying is, I’m just an ordinary guy,” Nathan replied. “If someone comes in there with Magic and shit, I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“They’re not gods, you know,” Lestel corrected him. “They’re just people. Bullets still hurt them.”

“The kids got a point,” Rose affirmed. “You need to stop being so paranoid.”

Lestel thought back to the recent weeks. Paranoid people were the ones that put her in there, paranoid people were the ones that wanted her powers, paranoid people were the reason she had to get a new name and a job, and paranoid people were the ones that were supposed to show up tonight. 

As far as Lestel Prism was concerned, the whole world could stand to be a little bit less paranoid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, I'm so sorry I haven't posted in forever.   
> Also, I really love the Lawman family. Viola, in particular, is really fun to write; so few characters in this story have active maternal figures that to write someone like her is always very fun. :)  
> Lestel was going to be part of a larger subplot that I'm cutting and moving to another project, but I still loved her little section and I don't think it hurts to keep it in.   
> If it's not already super obvious, Miles is based on Miles Morales in personality and Bruce is based on his dad. I love Into the Spider-Verse so much so I thought it'd be a cute little reference.


	10. Chapter 9: Zoey and Jacob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two lovebirds find one-another at the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much shorter chapter than usual. I saw no reason to lengthen this more than it needed to be.

‘Where are you?’ Zoey typed out into her smartphone. Looking around the plaza floor, there was no sign of her boyfriend, but she was the first to admit it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. 

Sending out the text, Zoey started scanning for anyone familiar, not just Jacob. She saw the Murro family, a few of the Oberins, and...Raio Fukunaga. 

Realizing that if Raio was here, his younger brother had likely been here for a few hours already, Zoey turned behind her, as if this was a horror movie and Ryoken would be right behind her. Thank god that wasn’t the case. Walking away, she was now keeping a lookout for her betrothed and boyfriend, for two completely different reasons. 

She didn’t like to think about it, but her relationship with him was...strange. She could never get a read on him, and he barely seemed to emote or talk at all, but he was the person her parents chose for her?

It was much easier with Jacob, much simpler. She didn’t have to guess what he was thinking, he would just tell her. It was like talking to a person, not a brick wall. 

She felt her phone buzz in her hand, looking down, she saw a text from him: ‘To ur left.’

Doing as she was told, Zoey glanced to her left and found Jacob, waiting by a snack bar with his siblings, about 15 feet away. As she closed the distance she examined his clothing. He was dressed in a freshly-ironed suit, its fabric looking like the thick brown coats worn in winters up north. Upon closer examination, it seemed to be a silky substance, with golden buttons and matching pants of the same shade of oak brown. By comparison, she was in a navy blue slip-on dress, a simple but effective look that matched well with her black hair and blue eyes. 

“You look good,” he told her when she reached him, a smile on his face. “Pretty,” he clarified as an after-thought.

“Thanks,” she said, her smile matching his own. “And you look handsome.”

This was the first time the two had seen one-another in half a year. Despite the months of texting and video chatting everyday, it couldn’t quite prepare Zoey for how face-to-face interaction would be. 

“This...is a bit awkward, isn’t it?” she asked. Jacob laughed, which eased her stress a bit. She had always loved his laugh. 

“It is,” he affirmed. “I feel like I’ve completely blanked on what we talked about last.”

“We talked about you driving in and your siblings kept butting in,” Zoey told him. “It honestly wasn’t that memorable of a conversation.”

Speaking of…

“Hey, Zoey!” The two teenagers looked over at Escher, a few feet away with a plate of food. “My brother really likes you,” she said, as if that was the natural thing to say when meeting a sibling’s significant other. Jacob shushed her immediately. 

“I can tell,” Zoey told Escher. “He wouldn’t have stuck with me otherwise.” A smile crept on her face. She hadn’t really spoken to Jacob’s family all that much, but what few interactions she had with them made them out as a polite clan (or at least, relative to Zoey’s own family). This was the first time she’d seen them since Escher and Duran learned about their relationship. 

“But seriously, don’t say that so loud,” Jacob told his sister. “Remember what I said back home? It’s kind of a secret.”

“Why? Is it because you have to marry that other guy?” Escher innocently asked Zoey. 

Jacob instantly tensed at the mention of Ryoken. He disliked the topic even more so than Zoey. 

“Yes, obviously,” Jacob hissed. “Now, please, leave us alone for a bit,” he said, turning her around and pushing her along. The interaction between the two siblings had some nearby guests staring. 

“Ok, but one more thing,” Escher told Jacob. She slipped out from beneath his hold and closed the distance between her and Zoey, plate of food still in her hands, and leaned in. “My brother always smiles when he talks to you,” she whispered into Zoey’s ear, before turning around and leaving, a small smile on her face. 

Jacob was, for lack of a better word, flabbergasted. 

“Honestly, she can be so nosy sometimes,” he told his girlfriend. 

“I think it’s kind of cute,” Zoey replied. “Do you really smile anytime you talk to me on the phone?”

“I...guess? If I do, it’s natural. I don’t really think about it.”

“Awwww, that’s cute.”


	11. Chapter 10: Noltu and Astraea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noltu Flame and Astraea Oberin each prepare for the night, in vastly different ways.

Astraea Oberin looked into the mirror. Was this really her face? 

As the eldest daughter of the Oberin family, she had a duty to uphold: acting as the face for her grandfather’s company, and making sure everything went smoothly tonight. This includes an opening speech. Naturally. 

She didn’t wear makeup very often. When she did, it was almost always against her will. She never particularly cared for it, but she could at least see the value of it. Especially on nights such as tonight. 

Now, she was so dolled up she could barely recognize herself. Polly continued to apply some foundation, trying to match her skin tone just right. 

“I don’t understand why you’re so calm,” Polly said. A rather bright, chipper yet anxious 14-year old, she never did understand her older sister. Astraea was so much more collected than most of the people in their neurotic family, if the two sisters were being honest. She carried herself with a sense of confidence not usually reserved for ordinary girls her age, but Polly supposed that Astraea wasn’t exactly ordinary. 

“It’s just a speech, nothing to it.” Astraea’s words came out somewhat curt, but she brushed past it. “Besides, Aquis is doing most of the heavy lifting. You should be asking her that.”

“First of all, Aquis isn’t my sister, so I wouldn’t be asking that anyways,” Polly said, as she gave the finishing touches, “even though sometimes I wish she was.” Astraea scoffed. “Secondly, if I were to tell her that, it’d be grossly incorrect. I saw her freaking out this morning.” The younger girl brushed a bit of red hair out of her face and reached over, starting to do Astraea’s eyeshadow. 

“She wasn’t “freaking out,” as you call it. A certain amount of stress is healthy.”

“If it’s so healthy, why aren’t you stressed?” Polly inquired. Given her eyes were currently closed, Astraea could not confirm for herself, but she suspected that Polly smirked as she said this. 

“I am stressed.” The words came out slightly more somber than Astraea intended, as if the hidden subtext was  _ I’m always stressed,  _ which would be a depressingly accurate statement if she bothered to say it aloud. “I just hide it.”

“Why is stress healthy?”

“I learned about it in Psyche. It’s called the arousal theory.” Polly giggled. “Not like that. Arousal just means any kind of heightened awareness. A certain amount is required to function normally. If I treated everything like it was some game, I’d never take anything seriously. If I don’t take anything seriously, then I make mistakes and say stuff I shouldn’t. I need to be stressed to be normal.”  _ Stress is normal,  _ Astraea gloomily realized. 

“Astraea?”

“Mhm?”

“Why do you know so much?”

“I read a lot,” Astraea nonchalantly replied. 

Two swift knocks to Polly’s bathroom door diverted their attention. “Come in,” Astraea commanded. Their father, Lucas Oberin, did as he was told. 

“Astraea, what are you still doing?” He was a tall, slender man, more so than his older brother, Charles Oberin. Despite being in his mid-40s, his hair was already graying, leaving his head with a pattern of ashen hair and the same flowing, energetic blond hair of Astraea. He couldn’t quite command a room in the same way his brother could, but the loyalty of his family and friends to Lucas equalized the playing field. 

“I’m getting ready,” Astraea said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was. 

“Well, hurry it up. You have less than an hour left until the speech. Can’t have the other partygoers think you’ve turned into some kind of hermit in the last year.”

As quickly as he came, Lucas closed the door and left. Polly continued applying eyeshadow as if he was never even there. 

“Does dad seem more stressed than usual?” she asked her older sister. 

“Mhm. I don’t know why, though.”

“Maybe it’s because you need to get married soon,” Polly jokingly suggested. 

“I’m 17. I think I’m fine.”

“Other kids like us are getting married at that age,” Polly retorted. 

“I know, but they’re weird.” 

Polly went silent. Astraea raised an eyebrow, eyes still shut. She couldn’t feel the brush against the top of her eyelids anymore. “Polly?”

“I think you’re about done,” Polly enthusiastically replied. She turned Astraea around in the chair so her sister was facing the bathroom mirror, and Astraea opened her eyes. 

“Well?” Polly asked, sounding slightly starved for approval. Astraea gave her sister a pat on the shoulder. 

“Well done,” Astraea said. “I like it,” she lied through her teeth. 

“You do?!”

“Yeah. You’re good at this.” Astraea leaned in slightly, getting a better look at her reflection in the glass, before reeling back. “Let’s go find dad and join everyone else downstairs, yeah?”

Polly nodded. She turned around and opened the door, leading the way for Astraea as she walked out. 

____________

The plan was simple, Noltu realized. More simple than he expected. 

Even something as baseless and vanilla as a straightforward assault would be complex. Assuming that they lived (an incredibly massive assumption, considering how much security constantly patrolled the building) through the initial assault, it would still require an organized wave of attacks to repel both the LAPD and the security forces the Oberin family hired for the night. 

But this? Not so much. 

To slightly oversimplify it, many mid-to-higher level members of the Golden Rebellion had enough connections with the invitees to receive their own invitations. All it took was bringing in a handful of these members to create some Runes, and when security was distracted during the confusion and rushed into the central ballroom, having the remaining rebels bolt through the now barely-occupied side entrances. 

Based on the information Alaska spoon fed him, Noltu was mere minutes away from the start of this plan. Earlier, he had already seen some of the others rebels entering. 

“Flame, what’s the situation?”

Noltu looked behind him. The bouncer from earlier, Hector, was assigned to be his “partner” for the night, a precaution to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. Which he fully intended to do. The two currently stood atop the rooftop of an apartment building, a few miles away from the Tower itself. Several other support Mages were with them, all in various stages of preparation. Noltu was looking out at the Tower, thinking of his friends: Astraea, Evan, Lestel and Aquis. They were counting on him, and he wouldn’t let them down. 

“We still have a few minutes to showtime.” Noltu tried to keep his voice as contained as possible, his words to a minimum. He couldn’t reveal anything about his current intentions, not to this guy.

“Nervous?”

Hector’s words seemed almost excited, as if hoping Noltu was getting cold feet about the operation. Noltu wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. 

“I’m fine. The people in there aren’t a threat. If they are, they won’t be for long.”

“Confident words coming from somebody of your limited experience, don’t you think?”

“Confidence was never a bad thing, Hector. And it surely isn’t now.” Noltu reached behind and grabbed the hood of his black sweatshirt, pulling it over his head to conceal the earpiece Astraea and Evan gave him earlier. 

Just then, a small beep could be heard. Noltu checked his pocket, and found the walkie-talkie Alaska gave him the night prior. He pressed the red button on the side and held it up to his ear. 

“Any updates?”

“The Oberin girl is already starting her speech, a few minutes ahead of schedule. Get ready,  **now** .” In contrast to how she sounded in person, Alaska’s voice was deeper over radio, much more commanding and authoritative. “We’re accelerating our plans, tell everyone else.”

“Roger that, getting ready now.”

Noltu put the device back in his pocket and turned to Hector, who had a sly grin on his face. 

“Alright, Flame, now’s your time to shine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Astraea, Noltu and Lestel (as well as the woman Astraea mentions, Aquis) are all part of a larger subplot that was intended to occur parallel to Eleanor and Ryoken's plotlines, but for the sake of simplicity and length I'm cutting them from the novel. They will still appear, just not to the same level of importance, and all of my ideas for them are being reserved for a future project. Nonetheless, their roles in the story are important enough I kind of needed to leave this chapter so it makes sense. 
> 
> My little sister wants to be a hair stylist and she does my hair all the time for formal events, which is where I got the idea for Polly and Astraea :)


	12. Chapter 11: Miles and Eleanor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golden Rebellion begins their assault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are really heating up! The action can finally begin!

“First of all, I want to thank everyone who could come here tonight.”

Astraea’s voice was calm, smooth and soft, as if she had rehearsed this speech a hundred times in the weeks prior. (Which very well may be true). Eleanor and Miles took seats in the very back of the ballroom; they could just barely see her, but her voice was clear as day. 

“Second of all, I want to thank the security firms we have with us: Lawman Security, Freesight Security, Watchmen Patrol, and Garda World.” 

At the mention of his father’s company, Miles practically glowed with pride, at least from where Eleanor was sitting. She looked out and could see his father, patient and stone-faced. Bruce Lawman was tall, even standing several feet behind Astraea and to the left of the podium, Eleanor could tell he was at least a foot taller than her. He wore a black vest, similar to a Police officer’s uniform, with what Eleanor imagined was a bulletproof vest underneath. 

“And that's without getting into the fine men and women of the LAPD here as well, providing as many officers as possible for the Tower’s exterior.” Miles thought of his uncle Nathan, out there right now.  _ I wonder if he can hear the speech?  _ He thought to himself. 

“And, finally, I would like to thank the investors and families that have made this possible. Not just tonight, but this entire building and all the good that happens in it.” 

Eleanor’s eyes wandered to the front of the ballroom. Some of the families were sitting together, others scattered. She could make out and recognize a few members of the seven families from photos she’d seen on the news, but none of them really stuck out to her, and most of their faces were completely unfamiliar to her. Only a handful seemed to be her age. 

“Everything we have here is only possible because of the efforts of those that came before us. I’m honored to be considered such a leader and visionary, alongside my father and grandfather before me. I hope, with everything I have in me, that my brothers, sisters, and cousins will receive such an honor in the near future as well.” 

Astraea’s smile was bright, and no doubt genuine, but it unnerved Eleanor. To think that this massive family was putting on such a show, talking about legacies and the importance of family. How would she feel if she knew she had two more cousins in this very building, that no one ever met or ever talked about? The more time Eleanor spent down here at the Gala, the more her father and Claus made sense: if their existence were to ever get out, the ripples in the family’s legacy, and the legacy of the Tower itself, would be  **massive** . 

“But enough about me, I’d like to discuss someone else now. She and her family have been with us since the beginning: the hopes she has of building a better future are, her ambitions and skill are peerless, and the changes she’s planned are unprecedented. Please welcome to the floor, my good friend: Aquis Murro!”

The entire room burst into applause. At the front of everything, Eleanor made out a girl about her age with a sky blue dress and her hair dyed royal blue. Some of the families in front even gave her a standing ovation. 

Eleanor clapped, as did Miles, but it was an utterly empty gesture, an attempt to fit in and prevent anyone around them from figuring out that they were outsiders who didn’t belong. All eyes were on the two girls, Aquis going up to the podium and wrapping Astraea in a tight hug. 

Only one pair of eyes seemed to deviate from this sight. 

The clapping blurred together for Eleanor, a massive wave of sound that seemed to simultaneously annoy her, distract her senses, and bore her. She looked around, finding that even though most of the Trailblazers in front were on their feet, almost every other patron remained sitting...with some exceptions.  Eleanor looked over at one woman, in the very corner, who rose to her feet slowly, not trying to draw any attention to herself. Averting her eyes to the opposite corner, Eleanor found the exact same sight, a man in his late 30s slowly rising. Finally, looking dead ahead, Eleanor found a third individual, coming to their feet, hands on their sides. 

“Are we supposed to stand, too?” she asked Miles, but he could barely hear her over the deafening sounds. Eleanor kept her eyes on the third man, about 8 meters away, and she could just barely make out a familiar sight as his hand contorted. 

...a Rune, bright red and simmering. A Combustion Rune. 

“Miles, GET DOWN!”

He barely even heard her before three more guests all rose to their own feet, the same Rune in their right hands, and all blasted it into the ceiling. The explosion was deafening, the sound of half a dozen Mages all focusing their magic on the same spot. Eleanor instantly ducked, putting her arms over her head to block any falling debris. The screaming started, followed by the crashing of ceiling into tables, chairs and floor. 

Eleanor instantly dropped to the ground, staying out of the range of fire. More Mages, just out of her original line of sight, came into view, each with their own Runes: white, green, blue, yellow, and every color in-between. She didn’t even recognize what most of those spells were supposed to be. 

“Miles, we have to go, now!”

She looked to her left, only to find him still on his feet, standing straight up, looking out amidst the chaos. Security guards rushed in, but most of them were instantly gunned down by some of the Mages or blasted away with their diverse array of spells. Reaching over, she grabbed the leg of his pants and pulled him to the ground. 

“Get DOWN!” she practically yelled over the commotion, just as a stray Combustion Spell soared past his head and ignited the adjacent table. 

Once he was on the ground, she found his gaze: wide and terrified, eyes as big as dinner plates. “It isn’t safe here, we have to go!” she shouted. He was taking light, rapid breaths, covering the sides of his head as we spoke. 

“I see an opening where there aren’t that many guards!” she said as she looked behind their table. “If we run--”

“My dad’s gone!” he interrupted, taking Eleanor by surprise. 

“W-what?!” Miles pointed out to the podium, where Astraea, Bruce and Aquis were just standing. All three were missing. 

__________________

At the first explosion, Ryoken took off running. 

He was already in the nearby hallway, and even without being in the ballroom, he could hear every word of Astraea’s speech. He could also hear the sound of an explosion and rubble falling. 

Without a second’s hesitation, he broke into a full-on sprint, looking for his father, brother, anybody. 

“Raio!” he shouted as he neared the ballroom. Before he could make it, a wave of people came out, running, screaming, nearly knocking him off his feet. Amidst the sound of more explosions, people running, and cries for help, Ryoken recognized another noise: a clear, distinctive noise, like the explosions, but quicker and without an echo. 

Gunfire. 

“Shit!”

_ Who would do this? _ He found himself thinking as he regained his balance.  _ Who would ever do this?  _

Despite the clear danger he knew he was in just by being in the vicinity, and despite every warning sign imaginable, including that little voice within his head telling him to get out and stay alive, Ryoken didn’t slow down or change direction. He kept his head low and practically rammed through the crowds. The smell of smoke and fire filled his lungs and stung his eyes, but in spite of this, any semblance of self-preservation or survival instinct he had faded into nothing. 

Pushing through, Ryoken found himself in the back exit of the ballroom...and right behind one of the shooters. 

Coming to a grinding halt, Ryoken’s shoes practically squeaked across the marble floor as he stopped, about 4 meters from the gunman. The gunman turned around, and Ryoken got a good look at him: he was wearing a gold-and-black long-sleeved shirt with a highly stylized “G” on it, as well as a dark blue ski mask to cover his face, with dark green pants and a belt that Ryoken could only assume carried more ammo. 

There were no words, no threats, nothing. He simply raised his gun and pointed it directly at Ryoken. This man didn’t care who he was, what he was doing, or who Ryoken was looking for. Looking down the barrel of that gun, Ryoken found that all the things he’d been stressing about during the last few days felt rather meaningless. 

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid, fucking STUPID!  _

Ryoken said nothing. There was nothing to say. Amidst the fire and screams and smoke and blood. There was too much distance for Ryoken to rush him, but there might be enough for Ryoken to flip around and try to outrun him. 

Yet before this could even occur to him, the man fired. Ryoken’s eyes shut and he flinched, preparing for the pain, for the blood, for the impact, for  **everything.**

But nothing happened. He felt no pain, no impact, not even the feeling of warm blood trickling out of an open wound. Ryoken dared not open his eyes at first, for fear that if he were to do so, the severity of his wound would immediately kill him; but eventually, after what felt like years, he relented, and slowly opened his eyes…

He was met with the bullet mere inches away from his face, still spinning. 

Another  _ bang _ , another gunshot, another bullet, coming at him faster than the speed of sound and then stopping in front of his face. Then another, then another. 

Out of the corner of his peripheral vision, Ryoken could make out a new figure. Now that he was seeing the bullets, his fears changed.  _ Maybe if I keep my eyes on the bullets, they’ll stay still,  _ he attempted to rationalize. 

In the milliseconds that followed, his brain moved at an enhanced speed, trying to reason out and rationalize every possible explanation for what he was seeing.  _ Maybe this is a hallucination _ , he thought,  _ or maybe I’m dead and I’m having an out-of-body experience _ . 

He thought of articles he had read about people who had near-death experiences. Strange as it may seem, weather it was a car crash or a shooting gone wrong, a fraction of them seemed to report the sensation of time slowing, as if their instincts and reflexes went into overdrive and left their brain behind, giving them plenty of time to respond despite time moving at its normal pace. 

But this wasn’t like that. The bullets were still spinning, and they didn’t slow down, they stopped completely. The rest of the world moved, screamed, bled, fled, but this one moment in time was frozen; no, these  **bullets** alone were frozen. 

Keeping his eyes on the bullets and the gunman beyond them, Ryoken dared to turn his head enough to see the figure in his peripheral vision. 

“Leave. Him. ALONE.”

Despite the explosions, despite the screams, the ruin, the carnage, the voice of Raio Fukunaga never felt so clear, so  **comforting** to Ryoken. Raio turned to Ryoken, shooting him a glance and flashing a quick smile. Sweat and blood trickled down the side of his head, and dust caked Raio’s suit jacket and shirt. He stood a few feet to Ryoken’s left, his arm extended and shaking violently.  _ Am I dreaming?  _ Ryoken questioned. 

Turned his attention to Raio, firing four more shots, one after another.  _ BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.  _

Without fail, all of them stopped mere inches away from Raio’s face, just as they did with Ryoken. 

“W...what’s...happening?”

Before anyone could answer, the bullets in front of Ryoken’s face seemed to turn, to  _ rotate _ . They flipped horizontally, the tips facing away from Ryoken. Raio let his arm fall, and the bullets (both in front of him and in front of Ryoken) fired back from where they came, leaving Ryoken to witness his would-be-murderer being shot 8 times consecutively, bullets piercing his shoulders, calves, diaphragm, and head. 

He fell to the ground, dead. 


	13. Chapter 12: Zoey and Jacob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles' father escorts Zoey and Jacob to safety.

Elsewhere, Jacob and Zoey had taken off. At the first sign of trouble, he grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the commotion. He barely knew this building, but for whatever reason--panic, the sudden surge of adrenaline, fear of losing her--he was leading the two of them. 

Zoey heard screams, explosions, and a dozen gunshots, one after another.  _ Is this it?  _ She thought to herself.  _ Is this the end of us? Will my powers even help?  _

Concluding she wouldn’t demonstrate any of her abilities unless it was a life-or-death situation, Zoey prayed she and Jacob could find the panic room. 

“Jacob, where are you going?!

“I don’t know!” he shouted back. He could hear people fleeing through the hallways, but it seemed aimless, chaotic. Every now and then, he could make out an interrupted scream, the sound of someone crying for help and their life abruptly ending before they could finish. The building was labyrinthine in these lower corridors, all the wallpaper exactly the same, all the doors the same color; there were very few visual cues as to where they were. Suddenly, a few of these features--a stain on the carpet, a door a bit too wide, a light flickering--started to click in place within Zoey’s mind, and as the initial shock faded, her thoughts became clear, focused. 

“There’s a panic room up ahead!” Zoey finally told her boyfriend. He turned back at her, nodded in agreement, and followed the corridor. Turning around the corner, Zoey’s hand in his own, he found a man with a gun. 

_ Shit,  _ he thought instantly, but this was no assailant. Upon noticing them, the man became focused and concerned. 

Bruce Lawman of Lawman Security lowered his gun, and immediately made his way to the two teenagers, pointing behind him. 

“You two, get over to the panic room, now!”

He lowered his head down into the radio on his uniform, clicked a button on the side, and spoke into it. 

“I have Lovrin and Micolta here. I’ll bring them to their families once things begin settling down.” Jacob heard a faint “Copy that,” and the radio clicked off. Bruce looked back up at them. 

“Are either of you hurt? There’s medical supplies in there.”

“We’re fine,” Jacob told him. He looked to his girlfriend for a brief, uncertain second. “Just in shock.”

“Yeah, I am too,” Bruce said. He still seemed distracted, his mind occupied with other things. He opened his mouth, as if about to ask a question or voice a concern, but the words died in his throat. 

“Anyways...the code is 301109,” he said abruptly, “don’t let anyone else in. You understand?”

Zoey and Jacob nodded in unison, still holding hands tightly. Just then, two familiar faces rounded the corner. 

“Wait! Let him in first!”

The three turned, and were met face-to-face with Raio and Ryoken Fukunaga, Raio speaking on his younger brother’s behalf, a fair amount of blood spattered on Ryoken’s clothing. Jacob’s eyes went as wide as plates at the sight, but he said nothing. 

Again, Bruce leaned into his radio. “Copy, I have the Fukunaga brothers, standing by.” He turned and looked up at Raio. “Your fiance is with her family, by the way. She’s safe.”

Another explosion seemingly rattled the entire building, but it was much closer, a much more immediate threat. Jacob heard Ryoken and Zoey curse under their breath. 

“All four of you, get inside, now!” Bruce said, before running off to the source of the noise. Jacob, Zoey and Ryoken didn’t realize it at the time, but they had met the father of a future companion. Thoughts of Bruce’s family flooded his mind. 

Once Bruce was out of sight, Raio turned to Ryoken and put his hands on his younger brother’s shoulders. 

“Ryo, buddy, listen. Go in there with these guys, I’m staying out here and seeing what I can do to help.”

Zoey’s mouth fell open. She barely knew Ryoken himself, let alone his brother, but she couldn’t watch anyone throw their life away. Before she could protest, Jacob beat her to it. 

“That’s ridiculous. Come inside.” Despite being a total stranger to Raio, Jacob spoke with an almost familiar, jaded sort of concern. 

“I’m much more valuable out here. You understand? Ryo, I’m finding Kamala, and all three of us are getting out of here and going home safe tonight, okay?”

For once, Ryoken did as his brother told him. Without any protest, he nodded, took his brother’s arms off his shoulders, turned around, and began walking to the panic room. Without Jacob or Zoey telling him, he was already inputting the access code. 

Flabbergasted, Jacob looked to Zoey, shrugged, and followed him inside. 

“Wait, one more thing!” Raio cried at the last second. 

Ryoken turned around, holding the door open as he faced his brother. Raio’s eyes showed a plethora of emotions Ryoken didn’t typically see in his brother: fear, despair, longing. 

“If this all goes south,” Raio told his brother, “find dad. He’ll explain everything. He  **knows** everything.”

Once more, Ryoken nodded in agreement. “Stay safe,” he called out, right as the door closed shut. 

It was going to be a long night. 


	14. Chapter 13: Miles and Eleanor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor reveals her secret.

In an adjacent hallway, Miles and Eleanor were running for their lives. 

“Miles, we’ll find your father, alright? But for now, I need you to stay focused.” Despite her quietness earlier, she’d instantly taken command of the situation (and their dynamic) at the first sign of danger, leading him through the corridors. 

She was familiar with the Golden Rebellion, and she was familiar with how people--rich people, specifically--think in dangerous situations. The Golden Rebellion was “batshit insane,” as Eleanor preferred to think of them, and they only cared about dealing a crippling blow to the rich. These partygoers would naturally flock to the main exits, where she presumed most of the rebels would already be waiting to slaughter them. It was about to be a bloodbath, but it seemed as if she was the only one who knew it. 

Therefore, she had to use the side exits. Less security would be there, but the upside was that less rebels would be there as well. Theoretically, she could make for a quick, clean exit, and sprint as far away from the Tower as her legs could take her. 

As much as it pained her to admit it, Eleanor had to get out of the building, leaving her sister in the process. This was a hotbed of violence, a tomb for the partygoers, and she was only putting herself in harm's way by sticking around unnecessarily. She had seen security personnel entering the staircases and elevators earlier. Eleanor could only pray that Nadia was safe and taken care of. Until then, she had to get as many people as she possibly could, and lead them out. Hence, bringing Miles along for the ride. 

She stopped running for a moment, Miles following her lead. The two crept around a corner, on the lookout for any signs of danger. 

“Miles, do you know this place?” He nodded his head no. “Alright, there’s an exit next to the staircase I take to sneak out of here most days, but I have no idea how crowded it is. It might be Fort Knox, or totally deserted. But we have to--”

“Eleanor, look out!”

Without even realizing, Eleanor dropped her guard by looking around the corner, and someone had tried to sneak up on her from behind. Miles practically tackled her out of the way, just as a Combustion Rune hit the spot on the wall she was leaning against. A loud, powerful explosion instantly engulfed the wall, practically disintegrating the drywall. If Miles was a second slower, he and Eleanor would both be dead. 

Eleanor quickly jumped to her feet, and she felt the familiar sensation of energy pooling in her fingertips. On instinct, a shield Rune formed in her hand. 

Their attacker was a woman of medium-height, maybe about 5’7” or 5’8”. She had tan skin, and curly brown hair so dark it was nearly black. A few strands hung over her eye as she generated a second Rune. 

“Miles, get out of here!” Eleanor shouted. The woman fired another shot, but streams of white, orange and purple energy concentrated into a spiral, and a semi-transparent shield formed in front of Eleanor and Miles, blocking the shot. 

Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, her breathing became rapid and heavy, and Eleanor could practically hear her heartbeat in her ears, but she didn’t stop. Once the shot was blocked, she switched to a new rune. This one was purple, royal blue and red, a high-powered Concussive Rune. The next few seconds moved in slow motion. The woman created a new Rune of her own: white with yellow highlights, the Rune of Electricity. She threw it at Eleanor’s head, but the technique was uncoordinated, sloppy. A last ditch effort to take Eleanor out. It didn’t work. 

The shield dissipated instantly, and as it disappeared, Eleanor fired a concentrated, invisible blast of air at the woman. As Eleanor shot her own blast of magic, she moved her head to the side, nonchalantly dodging the attack. The other woman was not so lucky. 

She tried to dodge it, jumping to the side, but Eleanor was too quick: the wave of magical air hit the woman in her head, and she fell to the ground. 

While their hallway was relatively empty, Eleanor and Miles could still hear the chaos: screams, crashes, gunshots, rapid footsteps. To Eleanor, all of that turned into white noise, as she took in the almost barbaric feeling of triumph. It had been years since she sparred with someone. A small smile formed on her face. She remembered how good the adrenaline rush of victory felt. 

“Eleanor, you’re a MAGE!?”

Oh, yeah. She forgot about Miles. 

She turned around, putting conscious effort into the removal of the smile off her face. That’s some baggage she’d need to address later. As she faced Miles, she dissipated the Concussive Rune from her hand; his chest rose and fell at a faster and faster rate, and Eleanor became aware of the fact that he was going into shock. 

“Miles, buddy, it’s okay.” Why was she being so gentle with him? She hardly knew him, but he seemed like a much different kind of person than what she was used to dealing with. Someone worth protecting. 

“Y-you killed her!” he said, backing away from Eleanor. 

“What! No, I didn’t! I just knocked her out. She’ll wake up long after the authorities have found her.” In truth, Eleanor had no idea. She put effort into making the Concussive Blast as strong as possible; she had trouble gauging how strong they were whenever she practiced. The woman might’ve been out for only a minute if she put a tiny bit of mana into it, so Eleanor practically overloaded her circuits trying to make sure the assailant was down for good. She elected not to tell Miles this, though. He was already nervous as is. 

“How can I trust you? Are you working with them?” Miles’ mind was going a mile a minute. Eleanor had to resist the temptation to roll her eyes. 

“If I was working with them, why would they attack me? C’mon, get up. Let’s get out of here.”

She extended a hand forward. Miles pondered what he had seen in the last minute. This girl was a cut above anyone else he’d seen at this party, and when he risked himself to protect her, she returned the favor tenfold by taking out the immediate danger. 

He took her hand. 

“What..what was that? The thing you used to take her out?” His heart was pounding, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of imminent danger, despite feeling safe next to her. 

“What? This?” She channeled the Concussive Rune again, this time smaller and less volatile. She didn’t fire, but she allowed the energy to concentrate in her palm; she didn’t usually let it simmer for more than a second, but she made an exception to show off. “It compresses nearby air and fires it out, like the air from an oxygen tank. It’s kinda risky, seeing as it's hard to aim, but it’s pretty easy to manipulate how powerful I want it to be.”

“FREEZE!”

Instinctively, Miles flipped around and threw his hands in the air. Eleanor followed suit a moment later, and was met face-to-face with an LAPD officer, pistol raised in the air and pointed directly at Eleanor. The officer leaned into his radio, and with a  _ beep  _ of the device, sent out a message to all nearby police personnel. 

“Copy, this is Officer Barnes, over. I have two of the Mages here cornered, requesting backup.”

“I’m not a Mage! And we aren’t the bad guys!” Miles proclaimed, trembling in his place. “She saved my life!”

“Shut up!” the cop shouted at Miles. 

“It’s true!”

“I said SHUT UP!” the cop bellowed, eyes still set on Eleanor. Compared to Miles, she was maintaining a stone-faced demeanor, facing down the cop seemingly without fear. It was almost...admirable. 

“Please, my name is Miles Lawman, I’m the son of Bruce Lawman of Lawman Secur--”

The cop turned his gun--and gaze--to Miles, away from Eleanor, taking a step forward. “One more word! One more  **fucking** word and I swear to god--”

In that split second, Eleanor shot Miles a glance, and revitalized the mana in her circuits. The Concussive Rune appeared once more, and she fired a blast of air at the cop, making sure to hit him directly in the face, the only part of his head not protected by the helmet. He noticed the second the familiar energy glowed in her hands, but he was too late: the second his firearm turned back to her and he prepared to squeeze the trigger, she launched her spell. He was unconscious on the ground before Miles could blink. 

“Miles, we need to move,  **now** !”

Eleanor grabbed Miles’ hand and darted out of the hallway, leading her shell-shocked companion to safety...or, at least, what could qualify as safety given the circumstances. 


	15. Chapter 14: Nadia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadia is facing some trouble of her own during the attack.

Nadia was a nervous wreck. 

Sleep had already eluded her for the entire night, and now here she was, listening to explosions from the top of what was supposed to be the safest, most secure building in the world. Instead, she felt she was at genuine risk of losing her life tonight. 

She tried to dial 911 earlier, but to no avail; the cell towers in the area had been sabotaged. After an agonizing few minutes of remembering what her half-brother told her, she also caved in and dialed Tower security...to no avail. 

Now, here she was, dozens of floors removed from her sister and anyone that could help her. 

Or so she thought. 

“Ms. Perry!”

The shouting was followed by several rapid, powerful knocks. How did she not notice people were already at her door? For a split-second, Nadia made peace with the idea that this may be her last day on earth, but a second, deeper voice spoke up. 

“Ms. Perry, we’re with Lawman Security, we’re here to escort you out!”

The familiar click of a key into the door’s lock rung throughout the empty room. Six security guards, all with LAW or LAWMAN written on their bulletproof vests, emerged, scattering throughout the darkness and checking for threats. Nadia was so in shock at the sight she didn’t even say anything. 

“Is the location secure?” one of them asked. 

“Affirmative,” said their leader. He was the tallest of the six, easily 6’1”, maybe more. He gave the room a quick scan before kneeling down to Nadia’s level, her thin figure and nightdress bathed in the light of the hallway. He extended a hand, with the sort of gentleness usually associated with approaching a small child, and after a moment of looking down at him, she shook it. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, a genuine smile on his face. “My name is Neil King, we’re here to escort you out. The building records say you’re paraplegic, right?”

She nodded, and pulled her hand away, pointing at her wheelchair. Words failed her at the moment. 

“I figured,” he said with a laugh. One of the other men started wheeling it over, but Neil turned to him. “Don’t bother, Ethan. It’s faster this way.” He turned down to Nadia, and relief flooded every pore of her body. 

“We need to get out quickly, may I carry you.”

“That’s fine,” she said, finally mustering her voice. Using her arms, she turned her body to the left, limp legs dangling over the bed. One of the men--Ethan, apparently was his name--holstered his firearm and picked up the wheelchair, while Neil slipped his arms under Nadia’s legs and picked her up, carrying her out bridal-style. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay, Ms. Perry. I promise, we’re gonna--”

“I’ll take her, if you don’t mind.”

All six of the guards and Nadia looked up at the doorway. A shadowy figure stood nearby. He was tall, taller than Neil, easily 6’3”. He seemed to be young, at least in his 30s, but his hair was already an ashen gray. His black eyes were utterly lifeless, and the coat he wore was almost as dark, its fabric coming down just above his ankles. 

In an instant, all four of the guards that weren’t carrying anything aimed their weapons, but they were too late. Just as they shot, the man’s eyes flashed for a brief moment, a signal that his Secret was activating. In an instant, he was gone, bullets sailing through empty air and impacting the nearby wall. Before Nadia knew what was happening, blood was everywhere, gushing in every direction. The five men around her fell to the ground, dead. 

“Mr. King, what just--” she said, looking up at her protector, only for a drop of blood to fall onto her platinum blonde hair. Nadia was faced with a horrifying sight: the man who promised to protect her, mere moments after assuring her safety, with a blade through his head. The sound of leather footsteps falling on concrete brought Nadia’s attention to her left, where the assailant stood, as if he never left the original spot; just as Neil’s lifeless body fell to the ground, taking the still-conscious Nadia with him as he plummeted. 

“No,” Nadia whispered, his dead body completely covering her own. “Please, not like this, not--”

“I’m not going to kill you,” the man said. “What would be the point?”

For the second time in less than a minute, words failed Nadia. She wanted to scream in pain, in fear, but it died on her lips, replaced by a pathetic, desperate whimper. The ashen-haired man slipped a hand into his coat and extracted a thin, silver pistol, which he aimed at her. 

As tears welled in her eyes, Nadia became aware of a thin needle penetrating her arm. She looked to her right and found a dart in her right shoulder. Her eyes suddenly felt very heavy; the drug was taking effect. Traces of light left the man’s eyes, a side-effect of his Secret. 

“It’s alright,” the man said, soothingly. “It’s alright.”

Nadia’s last thoughts were of Eleanor before the drug took hold of her completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nadia: Hehe, I'm in danger
> 
> Nah, seriously though, just another chapter and we'll be done with this part of the story. I estimate we're a little less than a third of the way through the material I have planned. Thanks for everyone who's read this so far, it's been a huge treat writing this!


	16. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles and Eleanor finally meet up with Jacob, Zoey and Ryoken.

Ryoken was a wreck. 

All these years, he’d envied his brother, practically despised him. Then, the one day his brother saved his life, he immediately turned around and went out on a suicide mission. 

He wanted to punch something, to break something, to do anything, but he couldn’t. He was trapped in this room. 

“What happened?” Zoey asked him. “To your face, I mean. It’s covered in blood.”

At the question, Ryoken thought back to what he’d seen a few minutes earlier: of a man being filled with dozens of bullets, reduced to a crimson corpse in seconds. Ryoken brought a finger up to his face and felt for the blood.

“Do you want me to take a look?” Zoey asked, taking a step closer. She reached out to Ryoken, but he grabbed her wrist, stopping her hand. 

“I’m **fine** ,” Ryoken said curtly. “I’m not hurt at all. This...this is someone else’s blood.”

Now **that** piqued Jacob’s interest. “No shit? What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Ryoken clarified. He hesitated. He knew that each of them came from families with connections; would it really benefit anyone to tell them about what had happened? Raio killed a man. It might have been in self-defense, but nonetheless, it might come back to bite him in the ass later. 

Besides, the means of the murder was the most damning thing. He simply held out his hand, and those bullets...changed course. They redirected themselves, like something out of a science fiction novel that Ryoken would’ve read as a kid. 

“Alright, I’ll bite, who did?” Zoey asked. 

Ryoken sighed. This was a life or death situation, one unlike anything else he’d ever experienced, and he’d have to answer this question at some point or another. He was supposed to marry this girl, after all. 

“My brother,” Ryoken told him. “He...he shot one of the terrorists, and killed him. I was right next to him at the time.”

Zoey raised an eyebrow. “Your brother? The super clean-cut nerdy guy?”

Ryoken took note of the description. “That is correct.”

Ever since they were kids, Zoey’s family had told her all about the Fukunaga’s. That one day, she would have to marry Ryoken. That they would get along swimmingly--if she did her part. That they had similar powers to her, that they were also Oracles. That the Fukunaga and Lovrin families would be joined together. She’d met Ryoken’s father more than once--a very stern and strange old man, but reminiscent of Zoey’s own dad. She’d also met Raio, and vastly preferred his company. He seemed a bit awkward and neurotic, but overall a nice man. 

The thought of him pulling out a gun and shooting somebody, splattering their brains and blood onto his younger brother, was a mental image that Zoey did not like one bit. 

Zoey shook her head. “I didn’t think he had it in him. He always seemed like such a nice guy, but this is a crazy time. We’ve never lived through something like this before.”

Zoey looked over at Jacob, and she took his hand in her own, squeezing it for comfort, for relief. For a moment, she wondered if they wouldn’t make it out of this, but she dismissed the concern instantly. If push came to shove, she could protect them. Both Jacob and Ryoken. She would have to. 

“Ryoken, I--” Zoey began, but she was cut off by her boyfriend. Jacob closed the distance between them, putting his hand over her mouth in an instant, and holding his pointer finger up to his closed lips in a “be quiet” gesture. 

“Zoey, shhhh,” he told her in a hushed whisper. “Be quiet. I hear footsteps coming.”

_________________

Outside the safehouse, Alaska Leones approached the massive steel door, her white hair draping over her eye. Behind her, two Mages lingered. 

The first--Ilona--was a large woman, easily 6 feet tall, with short hair dyed lilac-purple and deep carmel eyes. Like the rest of her fellow attackers, Ilona wore combat boots, a black sweater and dark jeans. Next to her was Seanan, a short and somewhat stocky man with long dark brown hair tied into a ponytail. Ilona had a Rune ready: Stun, which manifested in the form of a maroon-and-aqua triangle at the tips of her fingers. Seanan--a much more straightforward combatant--took to pulling out his sidearm, a Desert Eagle, and turned the safety off. 

“Boss, this is the final safehouse,” Ilona told Alaska. “There are seven more throughout the building, but we have men at all of them.”

“Take this one, then,” Alaska told her subordinates, fiddling with a strand of her snow-colored hair. “Leave nothing untouched.”

“I can’t hear anyone in there,” Seanan noted. Alaska flipped around to face him. 

“It’s completely soundproof, all of them are. We can’t be too safe.” She thought of the dozens of Mages that had been brought in. With a squadron this size, an event this public, and an attack this large, it’d be a struggle to get them all out of the building in time before more police forces arrived. They had no time to lose. 

With a flick of her wrist, the Stun Rune in Ilona’s hand dispersed and was replaced with a new Rune, ash and plum-colored: Unlock. Ilona held her hand over the door, and immediately the gears started turning. 

“It might take a second, boss,” Ilona told Alaska. “Security is tight on here, even with my magic.”

“Just get it done as quickly as you can,” her superior replied. Alaska looked behind at all the carnage that had been caused. Lights flickered, bodies lay behind them, and bullet holes riddled the walls and doors. She could still hear the faint sounds of running and screaming in floors below them. Either they were her own men, some of the guests, or the police being swarmed by the Shadow. 

Apparently, there had been a sighting of one of the Mages earlier, but it wasn’t one of theirs. A curious event, but one that Alaska didn’t have time to ponder or investigate. 

Unbeknownst to Alaska, in the adjacent hallway, the Mage in question was closing in on their position. 

“Report back to me once you’ve finished terminating them,” Alaska commanded. Seanan and Illona both nodded in comprehension, and Alaska left without another word. 

__________

“Eleanor, what are we doing?!” Miles asked as he ran behind her. Eleanor poked her head around the corner of the hallway. 

“I heard something, stay on your toes,” she told him. 

All in all, this was bad. Miles tried to warn the guard, but he didn’t listen before he sent out that message. If they were caught at all, he and Eleanor would be tied to the scene of the crime. Eleanor barely knew this boy, but it meant nothing. She couldn’t let someone get hurt for her mistake, especially not someone that had been so kind to her. And above all, she couldn’t lose focus; she had to find Nadia and make sure she was okay. 

Eleanor crept down the hallway. Several more guards with “Lawman Securities” on their bulletproof vests lay beside them. Eleanor gave a brief glance at them as she walked by. Some had bullet wounds in non-protected parts; knees, heads, necks. Makes sense; the vests can’t protect everything, and for a good shot this was the best way to eliminate a target. 

But beyond that, other guards had burns on their faces of varying degrees. Eleanor scowled. Some kind of Flame or Thunder magic had been at work here. These people didn’t stand a chance, not unless they were Mages or Oracles themselves. 

Miles passed by one of the guards, lingering for a moment. 

“Miles, we can’t afford to get distracted,” Eleanor told him. She took a step back and grabbed his arm; she’d drag him out of here if it came to it. 

“I-I know,” he told her, “it’s just...I knew him. I knew his family. I used to babysit for his kids.”

This was horrible. Bruce always loved to talk about his work, his employees; it was as if they were family. As his mind lingered over that idea, Miles came to panic. His own family was likely in mortal danger. How long ago did the attack start? 20 minutes? 30? It felt like months. In that time, it felt like everything was flipped upside-down. 

“It doesn’t matter now,” Eleanor said, keeping her voice down. “If we don’t get out of here. We’ll be like him.”

“But you can protect us, right?” Miles asked. “I saw what you did back there. I’d only ever heard of Mages in the newspaper, or in stories. And you...you seem pretty good.”

Eleanor’s mental train of thought was briefly interrupted by his comment. The last time someone besides Nadia saw Eleanor perform magic was...years ago. It’d been so long. She hadn’t realized how skilled she had become. Relatively speaking, of course. 

“Miles,” she told him, “I appreciate it, but I’m no good. Really. I just know the basics. I happen to be good at fighting and deflecting, but if these people are worth their salt, they’ll blow me out of the water. We need to get out of here, now.”

It was a lie, and she knew it. Eleanor couldn’t let this boy die, but she also couldn’t let her sister get hurt. She’d find Miles’ family and drop them off, before rushing upstairs to find Nadia. She wasn’t on any sort of guest list; as long as Miles kept his mouth shut, nobody would look for her, and she should be able to break away. 

As she spoke, she glanced frantically around. Gods, even just one floor of this place was like a maze. 

“What are you looking for?” Miles asked. He gave a quick glance behind him, worried they were being followed. 

“Something that can get you out of here,” she explained. “A stairway or a corridor; anything. Just not an elevator. They’ve probably cut those by now, and if not, they’re definitely occupying them.”

Eleanor cursed under her breath. Once again, the Golden Rebellion couldn’t help but make her life hell. 

“Wait, who is “they?” And what do they want?” Miles asked. 

Before Eleanor could respond, she heard talking, followed by the sound of steel creaking. 

Looking around the corner, Eleanor noticed two things. First, a massive steel door. It wasn’t terribly large in width, but it was almost certainly bigger on the inside, and the door reached to nearly the top of the ceiling. Secondly, the two people in front of it, muttering indistinctly. 

“...is a complete waste of time,” one of them said. He had a gruff voice, a bit scratchy, like a fire roaring. 

“It doesn’t matter,” the other said. She spoke with a sort of professional bluntness, as if this were just another ordinary day for her. “Leones brought us this far, we’re doing what she asked and that’s final.”

Miles pressed his body against the wall, taking deep breaths. He knew the risks; he knew that if either of them saw him, it was game over. He was just some kid; his dad happened to have a gig that brought him here. He wasn’t some ultra-rich aristocrat with top-of-the-notch bodyguards; he wasn’t some trained marksman, or expert fighter; and he certainly didn’t have magic shooting out of his hands. He was just a normal kid. He had no place in this. 

Eleanor, meanwhile, tried her hardest to cross-examine the name they mentioned: Leones. Was that anyone she knew in the Oberin family? One of the Trailblazers? 

“We don’t even know if anyone is in here,” the man said. 

“It doesn’t matter,” the woman replied. “The other vanguards checked every single one.”

Eleanor took another quick glance, careful to not be seen. She saw a dull gray glow coming out of the woman’s hand, followed by the door’s lock moving. Whatever she was doing, it must be some kind of rune, one Eleanor hadn’t seen before that was slowly changing the door. 

She couldn’t see what the man had in his hand, but based on the way he was gripping it, it had to be some kind of firearm. Whatever it was, Eleanor couldn’t take a chance. She got lucky with that guard, but that was in close quarters and she had Miles as a distraction. There was no way she was going to get lucky enough to dodge a literal bullet a second time today. 

Looking both ways, Eleanor noticed that the safehouse to their left was a dead end. To their right seemed to be the exit out of this area. 

“Eleanor,” Miles said in barely-audible whisper, “we have to **go**.”

Eleanor considered their options. When the fighting first started, they’d been near the stairwells, and they fled to the top floors, where there were the least amount of people. Now that the fighting was cleared out and the attackers started ascending--along with some aggressive remnants of the security teams--it became clear that the best option if she wanted to get Miles to safety was to take him down a floor or two. 

Eleanor thought back to the beginning of the party. Even amidst the hundreds of guests, guards seemed to fill all the empty space. Considering how well-trained they were, there was no way they were all dead, right? Some had to still be alive. If Miles' father was in charge of Lawman Security, he’d probably be at the bottom floor, trying to protect what few guests were still remaining. 

If Eleanor wanted to get Miles to safety, she’d have to go out the right hallway. But she couldn’t risk either of them getting shot, either with lead or a well-spaced burst of magic. If only she had a distraction. 

The final number on the lock clicked in place. The safe door started to open. 

“About time, Ilona” Seanan told her. “It took you long en--”

He was interrupted by a tall boy practically bursting out of the vault. He had short black hair and olive-colored skin, and stood head-and-shoulders above his attacker, tackling him to the ground. Behind him, Eleanor could briefly make out two other figures: a boy and a girl, each running out. This wasn’t some kind of well-coordinated attack; this was a suicide mission by three stupid but cornered teenagers. 

The other Golden Rebellion Mage--Ilona, apparently--was distracted by this sight for only a moment. 

Eleanor didn’t think. All she knew was that these three were in trouble. In an instant, a Rune lit up in her hand. Falling back on the basics, Eleanor thought to use a Concussive blast. 

She took aim at the lilac-haired woman, still standing but briefly shocked by the rapid turn of events. Eleanor concentrated the magic in her blood, in her nerves, in her essence, and fired. 

Eleanor’s arm was trembling at the sight, and the blast barely missed, going too low and hitting the woman in the nape of her neck. Not enough to knock her unconscious, as Eleanor did early, but she was definitely dazed, maybe even off-balance. 

The girl that emerged out of the vault wore a navy blue dress, with long black hair that draped over one eye. She grabbed Ilona by the face, and spoke in a calm voice. 

“Freeze,” Zoey Lovrin told her assailant. 

Instantly, Zoey’s left hand lit up with blue light. Ice and frost covered the woman’s face, and she fell backwards, screaming in pain, the Rune in her hand forgotten. 

As Zoey took on Ilona, Jacob fought Seanan on the ground, trying to pin the shorter man. The Mage got a few hits on Jacob, and he raised his left hand, pointing the barrel of the gun into Jacob’s head. Jacob reached out and grabbed the gun, pointing it at the ceiling but letting go of Seanan’s shirt in the process. The Golden Rebellion vanguard squeezed the trigger, and a deafening explosion ensued, the bullet flying into the ceiling above. 

Ryoken Fukunaga ran out of the safehouse and kicked Seanan square in the jaw. The man swore in anger and pain, and Ryoken grabbed his left arm and pinned it down, pulling the Desert Eagle out of his hands and throwing it to the side. 

Seanan attempted to reach for Zoey’s leg, but against Jacob and Ryoken’s combined strength, he has no match. Nonchalantly, stepping out of his grasp, Zoey kneeled down and put a hand over his face. “Freeze,” she commanded once more. A sound similar to ice cracking over a lake rung eerily throughout the corridor, and the man stopped moving. 

Witnessing the entire fight from a safe distance, Eleanor turned to Miles. “Now’s our chance.”

The two teenagers made their way down the halls. In retrospect, Eleanor couldn’t have asked for a better outcome: she wasn’t sure if she and Miles could’ve made it down the hallway without the Golden Rebellion members noticing. Having a distraction made things all the better. 

But whatever that girl was doing, it wasn’t magic. Not a chance. 

The other three teenagers took notice of Miles and Eleanor. Like threads of destiny coming together, Ryoken took notice of Eleanor: the girl with the sunlight dress. He’d seen her just the day prior on the top floor, but he said nothing. 

In a moment of recognition, harmony and understanding, Eleanor and Zoey nodded at each other. All five teenagers began running down the empty passages together. 

“Thanks for the help back there,” Zoey said, breathlessly. Eleanor took note of the fragments of frost on her fingertips, but kept her mouth shut. 

Eleanor realized how bad of an idea this was. She turned to Miles; she couldn’t help but trust him. He seemed honest and genuine, but he didn’t rat her out when she let it slip that she snuck into the party. He saw her performing magic, and she saved them from one of the Golden Rebellion’s Mages. She had faith that after tonight was over, they could go their separate ways and he wouldn’t expose her. 

But these three? Eleanor had no idea. Upon a closer look, she recognized the girl: Zoey Lovrin, the youngest daughter of one of the nation’s biggest real estate tycoons. And next to her was Ryoken Fukunaga, the second son of Japan’s wealthiest tech genius. She didn’t recognize the taller boy, but considering his company it was likely he came from another high-profile family. 

And all three of them had just seen her use magic. Considering what happened when that guard from earlier saw Eleanor using magic, she had to be careful. 

Ignoring them, Eleanor grabbed Miles’ wrist and was about to pull him away. “Miles, let’s go.”

The two started to walk off, but Ryoken grabbed her by the shoulder. “Wait.”

Eleanor turned around, taking her hand off him. “Let go of me,” she commanded. 

“Isn’t it best that we stick together?” Zoey asked her. “With your...abilities, and mine, we could make our way out of here alive.”

Eleanor hesitated. It seemed like a good idea, but she had no reason to believe that these people were trustworthy. After seeing how normal people reacted to magic in a situation like this, there was no guarantee that Ryoken, Zoey and the other boy wouldn’t just turn her over in a heartbeat once this was all over. 

“No thanks,” Eleanor replied. “I can take care of myself.”

“Wait, Eleanor, this could be--” Miles began. 

“If you want to go with them, fine,” Eleanor said, cutting him off. “But don’t expect me to trust a bunch of random strangers.”

“Guys!” the taller boy said. “We’re trapped in a building with a bunch of crazy sorcerers and armed psychos, is now really the time to bicker?”

Before Eleanor could reply that yes, this was a perfect time to bicker, she was proven wrong by the sound of footsteps, echoing throughout the otherwise empty hallways. 

“More terrorists,” Ryoken murmured. “We need to go, now.”

“I’m not going with--” Eleanor began, but was cut off by Miles grabbing her hand and pulling her away. 

“We don’t have time to argue!” he hissed back at her. 

__________

As the five teenagers made their way through what remained of the Tower, Jacob could clearly see much more of the carnage that nearly took his own life mere minutes ago, much of it beyond anything he could imagine. 

Doors were ripped off their hinges, revealing piles of bodies beaten, bloodied and bruised. Expensive silk clothing, priceless diamonds and shimmering jewelry were all stained red, discarded to the floor like trash. As they neared the main entrance, he saw bodies scorched, torn apart, and frozen in blocks of ice. 

“Magic,” Eleanor said, as her gaze found a young boy encased in a cube of ice nearly a foot thick. “Whoever’s here isn’t fucking around.”

Jacob’s eyes found more evidence of sorcery; magical runes, burnt into the walls and floor. Wands broken apart like twigs and discarded to the side, traces of white mana leaking from the wooden tips. Jewels and precious stones were cast to the floor; the magical energy that charged these materials now gave them a faint glow. 

Jacob’s eyes found a particularly large stone, a white piece of quartz with odd symbols carved into the side. He recalled that these were “materia,” pieces of stone or jewels that were imbued with magical energy to produce new effects. Whoever was here was killed before they could activate their materia. 

“Move quickly,” Eleanor told the group. “I can still hear them.”

“Who?” Miles asked. 

“Everyone.”

After what felt like eons of crouching and making their way through the dining room and great hall as quietly as possible, Ryoken’s eyes finally found the massive glass doors of the entrance, the once-transparent glass now stained with blood. 

“Jesus,” Zoey muttered, as the five all looked onward at the sight. 

Dozens of corpses laid on the ground, piling over one-another and completely eclipsing the door. Bullet holes riddled the bodies. 

“They locked the doors,” Ryoken observed. “Let everyone panic and come here, and then...they killed them all.”

Jacob scanned through the piles of bodies, looking desperately for the faces of his mother, father, sister, or brother. He exhaled a sigh of relief when he couldn’t find them. 

“HEY, THEY’RE OVER HERE!”

The quinet turned around just in time to notice an armed guard, his semiautomatic rifle pointed up at them. “RUN!” Eleanor shouted. 

The five all took off, making their way to the glass doors. The sound of gunshots filled the air, and Miles could hear the bullets as they whizzed past his head. Jacob nearly tripped on a dead body, but caught his footing at the last second and kept running. 

Eleanor put her hands together, concentrating her mana into her fingertips, and cast a Shield Rune. This was her largest one yet, completely covering her back and leaving enough room for the others. 

“Everyone, stay close to me!” she shouted amidst the gunshots.

Zoey rounded a corner, and came face-to-face with an armed assailant. Before he could even raise his silver revolver at her, she reached forward, grabbing his face with her right hand. She felt the energy explode in her palm, and the attacker screamed in pain as his face melted away into nothing. 

Jacob gave a quick look behind him, and immediately regretted it. The single guard that initially noticed them had called reinforcements, and at least four guards--all armed and shooting to kill--were now locked on. Jacob ran to Eleanor’s side, and her Shield Rune blocked a stray bullet that would have otherwise been a lethal shot. 

Ryoken was the first to reach the doors, but they were still obscured by dozens of bodies. They had no time to move them out of the way, which meant they simply had to bulldoze through the glass barriers. He charged at the glass, smashing into it at full-speed...and nothing happened. As he looked up, he saw a number of small holes in the glass. 

“Oh, shit,” he whispered. “GUYS! The glass is bulletproof!”

One of the Golden Revolution Vanguards aimed for Ryoken, who scrambled out of the line of fire at the last second. He watched in horror as the guards bullets sank into the glass, which remained sturdy as always. 

Before Ryoken had time to hide or formulate a plan, Jacob and Eleanor ran over. Jacob had a large chair in his hands, which he threw with all his might at the window that had the most bullets in it. The chair bounced off, but Eleanor concentrated her mana into her left index finger and activated a Snipe Rune. A thin beam of fuschia magical energy sailed through the air and shattered the window. 

“Everyone COME ON!” Eleanor shouted. 

Miles, Zoey and Ryoken didn’t need to be told twice. The three followed closely behind her and Jacob, who sprinted out of the broken window at top speed. 

Gunshots and shouting rang out in the distance, and the quintet didn’t stop until they were absolutely positive they hadn’t been followed. 

“Guys, I think we lost them,” Miles said, his lungs burning. 

Eleanor was the first to slow down. In fact, “slow down” might have been something of an understatement; upon hearing Miles' words, she very nearly collapsed to the ground. Jacob caught her at the last second. 

“Wow, blondie, is everything alright?” he asked. 

“Fine, fine,” she gasped. “Just not used to using so much mana like that. Never done that spell before.”

Without saying a word, Jacob pulled Eleanor into his arms and started carrying her across the parking lot bridal style. It slowed him a bit, but he kept pace with the others regardless. 

“Everyone, let’s get to my car,” Ryoken told them. “It’s this one up here.”

The five made their way to a sleek gray vehicle towards the back of the lot. The entire parking lot was jam-packed, mostly with vehicles of the deceased, but a single working streetlight helped to illuminate Ryoken’s amidst the crowd. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he told them. Eleanor had never agreed with anything more in her life.


	17. Chapter 16: Ryoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quintet--Miles, Eleanor, Zoey, Ryoken and Jacob--encounter some startling news, and they react with horror.

Ryoken Fukunaga couldn’t help but wonder how he got himself into this mess. 

Here he was, blood splattered on his face, driving like hell down a completely deserted backroad. This was supposed to be just another stupid night where he had to endure interviews, prying questions, and his brother and father’s presence. 

Not only did his father never show, but the entire event went to shit. Terrorists invaded, magicians attacked, dozens of people died, and two random strangers tried to save him, which led to him driving them the hell out of there. 

Now, here he was. As he sat in the driver’s seat, steering one-handed, he glanced to his right. In the passenger’s seat was this girl--Eleanor--who he’d never seen until last night, but who he technically had to thank for saving his and his fiance’s life but who never elaborated on who she was or why she was at the party. 

Speaking of which, sitting in the back was Zoey herself, a girl he’d never cared for one way or another. Accompanying her was her boyfriend and some lower-class kid Eleanor found along the way. 

As Ryoken adjusted the rearview mirror to get a better look at Jacob, Zoey and Miles all crammed in the back--focusing on Zoey and Jacob especially--he couldn’t help but feel like he was trapped in some kind of stupid young adult romance novel that he would’ve loved as a kid. 

“Where are we going?” Eleanor asked from the passenger’s seat. 

“Police station,” Ryoken answered. “I’m taking you all back to your parents.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened in shock. “No, no. You can’t do that.”

Ryoken’s brow furrowed in confusion and frustration. “Why the hell not?”

Miles leaned forward from his seat in the back, giving Eleanor a confused look. “Eleanor, why not?”

Eleanor looked from Miles, to Ryoken, and back to Miles. None of this was ideal. She’d nearly been caught using magic once tonight already. If she were to air any more of her secrets, Claus would give her hell. As it stood, he might not let her and Nadia stay at the Tower anymore. Where would they go? Back into the hellish foster system? 

Zoey tried to tune out the noise from everyone. She looked to her boyfriend, and squeezed Jacob’s hand. She was tired as shit, and could really use some sleep right now. But with all that she’d seen--all that she’d done--tonight, she doubted that would happen anytime soon. And certainly not in this crowded car with two strangers. 

But Jacob wasn’t paying attention to her. His gaze was fixated out the window. His eyes were becoming heavy, and he felt sleep beginning to take over. Roads upon roads, signs upon signs, streets upon streets, all blurring together as Ryoken drove faster, more frantically. 

Until, that is, he saw the HoloBoard. 

At first, it didn’t have any unusual messages. Just advertisements for big businesses coming up on the next few blocks, no big deal. Until it began to turn; the HoloBoard’s advertisements went away, replaced by 5 familiar faces. 

Instantly, his eyes snapped open, and he pressed his face against the window, trying to get a better look. 

“Ryoken, stop the car!” Jacob shouted. 

Ryoken, Eleanor and Zoey all looked at him like he was crazy, having not noticed yet. “What?” Eleanor asked. 

“Ryoken, I swear to--STOP THE CAR!”

Ryoken slammed his foot on the brake, swerving his car to the side of the road. Turning around, he practically screamed at Jacob. “What. On God’s green earth. Is your fucking problem?” he asked. 

Jacob didn’t hear him; he didn’t care. He threw the car door open in an instant, getting out and looking at the HoloBoard once more. He tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes, and he gave himself a light slap on the cheek.  _ Please be a dream _ , he thought to himself.  _ Please oh please just let this be a dream _ . 

It wasn’t. The board in front of him was as real as his skin, the clothes he was wearing, or the car he was riding in. He raised a shaky finger and pointed up at the board. 

“Everyone, look,” he told them. 

Miles was the first to get out of the car, and at the sight, he almost fainted. He was followed by Eleanor, a pissed-off Ryoken, and an equally concerned Zoey. 

“Oh, no…” Eleanor said, beginning to realize the gravity of the situation. 

On the board, their five names were displayed, followed by pictures of their faces. Electronic mugshots, essentially. A massive “WANTED” label was on the top of the HoloBoard, and a voice began to play. 

“If you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of these five fugitives, do not hesitate to contact the Los Angeles Police Department,” the electronic voice said, ringing out across the night sky. “They are to be considered armed and highly dangerous. At least one of them is known to be a Mage, and another is a suspected Oracle or Unknown. All are suspected of working with the Golden Rebellion.”

A hand went over Eleanor’s mouth. She watched as the screen turned once more, showing security footage. 

“Eleanor,” Miles told her, “that’s...us!”

On the screen, it showed footage from one of the Tower’s security cameras. Specifically, of a guard approaching Miles and Eleanor with his gun drawn, and Eleanor shooting him down with a spell, the guard falling to the floor like a sack of bricks. 

This sight shifted once more on the screen, which now revealed footage from the exit of all five of them running out of the chaotic building and jumping into Ryoken’s car, speeding off into the night. 

“We’re...fugitives?” Zoey asked. 

Jacob turned back around to Eleanor, his eyes ablaze. 

“You!” he told her, pointing at her. “You’re the one who got us into this! If it wasn’t for you killing that guard, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

He took a step forward in Eleanor’s direction, out for blood, but Miles jumped between the two of them. “Eleanor didn’t condemn us,” he told Jacob, “she saved us! She saved you three from those crazy Mages at the safe room.” 

“And I didn’t kill anyone,” Eleanor told Jacob, standing her ground. “I used a Concussive Blast on that guard. He’ll be out for a few hours and then wake up for a headache. Hardly enough retaliation, as far as I’m concerned, considering he pulled a gun on two innocent teenagers.” Eleanor hoped that the words leaving her mouth were true. 

Ryoken rubbed his eyes in frustration, still standing next to the driver’s seat. “What a fucking mess,” he mumbled. 

Jacob thought back to earlier in the night, when the safe room was broken into. He had no idea if he, Zoey and Ryoken would get out of there alive, or at least without any injuries. Had Eleanor not shown up and fired a shot at them...well, he didn’t like to think about that. 

“I...I’m sorry,” he told her. “I just...I can’t believe this. This was supposed to be some stupid night where I eat way too much food, listen to some boring speeches and go to bed. Now...now I’m a fugitive.”

“We all are,” Zoey reminded him, “but we don’t have to be.”

Eleanor shot Zoey a confused look. “What are you proposing?”

Zoey took a deep breath, unsure of what to say. She gave a quick glance at everyone around her, from left to right: Jacob, Ryoken, Eleanor and Miles. 

“I’m proposing,” Zoey continued, “that we aren’t the ones responsible for this attack. And if we can find the people who are, we won’t be fugitives anymore. We can go back to our lives. Ryoken, Jacob, you two can go back to your homes. I can go back to my family. Eleanor and Miles...you guys can do whatever the hell it is you do.”

Miles shot her an offended look, and Eleanor interrupted Zoey before she could talk further.  “Ok, fine. Let’s say we do this. Let’s say we find the Golden Rebellion, their leaders, and we defeat all of their Mages. How do we know the police won’t treat us as fugitives any longer?”

“I...I guess we don’t,” Zoey admitted. 

Ryoken seemed unsure of that. “There isn’t exactly much else we can do right now. It’s not a...terrible idea, I suppose.”

“Am I the only one who thinks this is crazy?” Miles asked. “You guys saw what I saw tonight. There must’ve been dozens of those people. Spells, terrorists, secret conspiracy theories...I can’t get drawn into this crazy stuff. I’m not like the rest of you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jacob told him. “Like it or not, you’re in the same group as the rest of us now. And if we’re going to clear our names, we need to work together.”

“How? How can we possibly defeat them?” Miles asked. “We’re just kids!”

“We’re not  **just** kids,” Zoey told him. Holding out her hand, she felt a current of energy run through her hand, and a patch of ice appeared in her palm. “I’m more than just a kid. Eleanor is too. You saw how capable she was with her spells back there.”

Eleanor blushed a bit at the compliment. Ryoken held a finger up to his chin, pensive. 

“Jacob, Zoey, do you remember what my brother said before he left?” Ryoken asked. 

Jacob and Zoey shot him equally confused looks. “No,” Jacob admitted, “what was it?”

“He told me to find my father,” Ryoken answered. “He told me that dad knew about all of this.”

Now it was Eleanor’s turn to look confused. From what little she knew about Ryoken’s family by reading newspapers and gossip magazines, that seemed hard to believe. “You think your father, the techno-genius of Japan, arranged this attack in Los Angeles?”

“Yes,” Ryoken answered. “No? I’m not sure. But my brother wouldn’t lie to me. Raio was rushing off into what seemed like certain death to find Kamala. I doubt the final thing he would say to me would be some wild goose chase.”

“What motive could he possibly have for doing that?” Eleanor inquired. 

Ryoken shook his head in frustration. “I don’t  **know** ,” he answered, “but he must be connected to this somehow.”

Zoey averted her gaze at Ryoken’s words.  _ He must be hurting right now _ , she thought to herself.  _ His only brother could be six feet under right now, and he has no idea _ . She’d never been particularly close to Ryoken throughout their childhoods, but right now, she felt nothing but sympathy for him. 

“So you think finding your father--whether he orchestrated this or not--is the key to finding the true culprits and clearing our names?” Jacob concluded. 

Ryoken nodded in agreement. “Precisely.”

“Guys, look,” Miles said, pointing back up the HoloBoard, “it’s changing again.”

Once more, all five looked as the Board displayed a new message, the emotionless, automated voice speaking once more. 

“These five are responsible for a massive loss of life,” the female voice said. “To date, there are over 80 reported casualties and many more injured or missing.”

The screen started to flash through the various names and corresponding faces of the deceased. Jacob scowled at the false accusation, but said nothing. 

Ryoken paid close attention to the names. Various party guests he’d briefly seen, members of security--

His heart plunged into his chest. Two of the names hit a bit closer to home than the others. Arti and Jaidev Krishna. Kamala’s parents. 

He anxiously awaited for the rest of the names, but Kamala and Raio’s weren’t among them. He exhaled a sigh of relief. At least they were alright. 

“And these casualties aren’t including the brave law enforcement that gave their lives to protect our upper-class,” the HoloBoard continued. 

Miles’ expression turned to horror as the board began listing more names. 

“Alan Johnson. Eric Jackson. Jai Kilinari. Yuri Lamon. Nathan Levinski--”

Miles didn’t hear the rest. None of them did. 

“No,” he muttered in shock. “No, no, it can’t be true!”

The boy fell to his knees. Within seconds, his chest was heaving between heavy, pained sobs, unable to get a word out. Eleanor kneeled down and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in a hug, his tears staining her now soot-covered dress. 

Zoey looked to their left and to their right, somewhat anxious. “Ryoken, we should get going soon,” she told him. “If they’re really out there looking for us--”

“Soon, not yet,” he told her, his gaze still fixated on the Board. 

The voice began reading out the names of the missing, finally done with the names of the deceased. 

“William Farrel-Henry. Pepper Fenrir. Oliver Fevor. Weiss J. Fudor. Raio Fukunaga--”

Ryoken glowered, and Zoey shot him an expression of worry, but neither party said anything. There was hope that he was still alive, but with how many people there were searching for him, that hope diminished more every second. As Eleanor comforted Miles, another name rang out amidst his sobs. 

“And, finally,” the voice said, beginning to reach a conclusion, “we plead you all to keep an eye out for this girl: Nadia Perry.”

Eleanor flipped around and looked back at the Board, still holding Miles in her arms. Unfamiliar security footage played: Nadia--still in her nightgown, strands of her platinum hair covering her cut-and-bruised face--being carried out of the hospital by a slender, unnaturally pale man with thin features. 

Eleanor’s worst nightmare was coming to pass. The only family she cared for was finally gone, and there was nothing she could do about it. 

Ryoken turned around, looking at the motley and incongruous party of misfits he’d inadvertently assembled. As Zoey pulled Jacob into a hug, Eleanor and Miles leaned on one-another for physical and emotional support; Ryoken’s goal became clear. 

He was going to find his father, make him answer for all of this suffering, and clear their names. And he would do it with these four people. 

“Everyone, get in the car,” he finally announced. “We have a long road ahead of us.”


	18. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang stops at a motel for the night.

Ryoken couldn’t remember the last time he was this tired. After some late night clothes shopping (because making a cross-country road trip in tight ballroom dresses and tuxedos was impractical), the group decided to find a place to sleep. Just his luck that he was still recovering from jetlag when all this happened; he didn’t trust anyone else to drive his car, but that was the price he had to pay. 

Eleanor was still wide awake, despite driving all night. Ever since her face surfaced on that HoloBoard, the cops had been roaming all over LA, searching for the five supposed “terrorists”. That burden didn’t seem to rest easy on her shoulders. 

_Cops are stupid _, Ryoken concluded. Because of the law enforcement, he was now traveling across California looking for his missing dad, all because some dumbass cop was too idiotic to realize Eleanor was protecting Miles, not the Golden Rebellion. And because she had to save his life too, Ryoken was now roped into this.__

__“We’re here,” he muttered, pulling into an empty parking spot. The motel had a neon red sign, flickering on and off for a few seconds. Ryoken pulled himself together; he needed to get in his room and get some sleep._ _

__Instantly, Miles shot awake in the backseat. He fell asleep on Jacob’s left shoulder, Zoey passed out on his right. Miles worried for a second that he drooled in his sleep, but dismissed the concern upon realizing the couple was sleeping too heavy to notice even if he was._ _

__“Miles, wake them up,” Eleanor commanded. It might’ve been Ryoken’s car, but as far as he was concerned, Eleanor was the boss. He...didn’t know how he felt about that. At least she wasn’t giving him orders._ _

__Miles shook Jacob awake. The movement actually woke Zoey up first, causing her face to slide off her boyfriend’s shoulder. It would’ve been funny if Ryoken wasn’t so damn tired, irritable, and, in general, sick of those two._ _

__Finally, Jacob’s eyes started to flicker open with the same sporadic patterns and half-heartedness as the neon sign in front of them. “Hell, I’m awake,” he mumbled. “What time is it?”_ _

__Eleanor glanced at the clock on Ryoken’s dashboard. “About 2. So we have a few hours before we need to hit the road again. Let’s get some sleep here.”_ _

__“God, what a fantastic idea,” Zoey sarcastically murmured as she opened the door, practically falling outside. “Wake up the girl in the backseat just to tell her to go to bed.”_ _

__Eleanor didn’t say anything. She just closed her eyes, exhaled deeply from her nose, and clenched her first, all while opening the shotgun seat and getting out. Ryoken followed her, then Miles, then Jacob._ _

__“I still have my personal card,” Ryoken said, holding out an emerald green credit card. “I can pay for two rooms.”_ _

__“Wouldn’t someone have frozen your accounts by now?” Eleanor asked, sharp as ever. Ryoken nodded his head “no”, forcing down a colossal yawn to explain. “I separated my bank account years ago. Mostly just birthday money and stuff, should have about $85,000. It’ll be enough for a while.”_ _

__If Miles had a drink, he would’ve surely spat it out. “$85,000!!” he practically shouted. Zoey shushed him instantly._ _

__“You’re sure that’s not yen or anything, right?” Jacob asked, still groggy._ _

__“I’m positive,” Ryoken said, flashing the taller boy a scowl. “I’ve lived here long enough to know what currency I’m using.” Jacob considered glaring back, but decided it was too much effort and he was far, far too tired._ _

__“How do you people have that much money in just pocket change?” Miles asked, flabbergasted. Ryoken shrugged; there wasn’t much more he felt needed to be said on the topic._ _

__As he let out a colossal yawn, Eleanor spoke. “If you’re too tired, I can just get the rooms for us,” Eleanor volunteered. Ryoken uncharacteristically put up no fight for such a compromise, handing her the card with only a split second of hesitation that he immediately dismissed. “Just two is alright, right?” she asked the quartet._ _

__Miles shrugged, but turned to the side a bit, not wanting to make eye contact. _God, he is embarrassed that easily? _Ryoken asked himself. _The thought of sharing a room isn’t anything to get worked up over. _______

______“Sure,” Ryoken answered. “One for the guys and one for the girls.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Before anyone else could speak up, Eleanor turned to Jacob and Zoey, the latter leaning on the former a bit for balance. “Micolta, Lovrin, we don’t trust you guys to not fuck. Sorry.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Again, if Miles had a drink, he would have surely spit it out, for a completely different reason. Jacob started hollering with laughter, Zoey made the most offended-sounding noise Eleanor ever heard before hitting his arm in frustration, Miles covered his face to hide how much he was blushing, and Ryoken simply face-palmed._ _ _ _ _ _

______Amidst a sea of varying reactions, Eleanor nonchalantly walked away to the front desk, Ryoken’s card still in hand. He had no idea if she was even joking or not._ _ _ _ _ _

______After he took a moment to regain himself, the group fell into silence again. Ryoken enjoyed it for the 5 seconds it lasted._ _ _ _ _ _

______“So what’s your story?” Miles asked, the question directed at Ryoken. Ryoken blinked twice, facing the shorter boy, unsure of how to respond._ _ _ _ _ _

______“It doesn’t matter,” he finally responded. Miles didn’t buy it._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yeah, it does. I wasn’t asleep the whole time, I heard you two talking. Who’s Raio?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Upon hearing that name, Ryoken felt a weird sensation: a combination of his fight-or-flight instinct and the realization he may have lost his brother forever. It sounded odd for someone to not know who Raio was, but that was something Ryoken appreciated about Miles; this kid was so out of the loop, talking to him felt authentic, like a clean slate._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Just my brother,” Ryoken muttered._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Is he dead?” Zoey asked, no subtlety whatsoever._ _ _ _ _ _

______Ryoken faced the girl. The two of them had barely spoken since the attack last night; it was awkward to have a conversation with a girl he was supposed to marry, especially now. Everytime he made eye contact with her it was like looking into the future he’s supposed to have._ _ _ _ _ _

______“...I don’t know,” Ryoken said. The truth was hard to admit. If Raio’s an Oracle, that means he might’ve survived. Actually, if Raio’s an Oracle, Ryoken might be one too._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Dude,” Jacob said, putting a hand on Ryoken’s shoulder, “I’m sure your brother’s fine. He’s probably worried sick about you, isn’t he? Besides, if what you told us at the safe room is true about him protecting you, it sounds like he knows a thing or two about fighting.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______It was an uncharacteristic gesture for Jacob to comfort Ryoken. The Fukunaga Industries heir didn’t know what to say. “Yeah,” was what he settled on. Ryoken didn’t know what to think, either. The entire night was a blur. The only thing he remembered clearly were those bullets stopping in front of his face…and his curiosity forever piquing._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Zoey, what was that thing you did? Back at the safe room?” The abruptness of the question caught her off guard, and it looked like she woke up a bit._ _ _ _ _ _

______She started to weigh the pros and cons of telling Ryoken. Eventually deciding that she was indefinitely stuck on a roadtrip with him and that there was no harm, she opened her mouth, only for Jacob to beat her to it._ _ _ _ _ _

______“She’s an Oracle,” Jacob interrupted._ _ _ _ _ _

______“A Type-B one, huh?” Ryoken rhetorically asked. “I never knew you were one,” Ryoken told her, less of a question and more of a statement._ _ _ _ _ _

______Miles kept turning his head between Zoey and Ryoken, trying to follow along. “Wait, a type-what? Zoey, you’re one of them?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Zoey looked over at Miles. Cat was out of the bag, huh? “Uh, yeah. I am,” she said. A grin spread across Miles’ face, like he was meeting a childhood idol. “Holy shit, that’s awesome! You’re like a superhero or something!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I guess?” she replied with a shrug. “Here, watch.” She unfolded her hand, and blue energy started to spread across the tips of her fingers. “There are two types of Oracles, Miles. Type-A Oracles have telekinesis; it’s rather simple, but it can be used for a lot.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______As she spoke, Miles seemed entranced by the sight of the energy. Ryoken found himself more captivated by the words she spoke. This girl he’d known for his entire life...she was one of them? Just like Raio?_ _ _ _ _ _

______“But there’s another type, a more common one,” she continued. “Type-B Oracles have some kind of other ability. It’s still psychic and scientific, but more specific. I can manipulate the temperature of anything I touch, for example.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Before the conversation could continue any further, Eleanor walked back over to them with two keys in her hands. “We’re 132 and you guys are 233,” she told them._ _ _ _ _ _

______Ryoken would never admit it aloud, but with all they had been through, it was nice to see someone else capable of leading them, someone aplomb. With the competence over magic she displayed back at the Tower, he had a feeling this Eleanor girl would be a massive help to their journey._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eleanor tossed the key for room 233 into the air at an exhausted Jacob in an underhanded motion, who didn’t even notice; the key landed right between his eyes and fell to the floor, somewhat shaking his balance. Between giggles, Miles picked up the key and held it in front of him so Eleanor could see, letting her know he had it._ _ _ _ _ _

______“We’ll see you guys at first light,” Ryoken told Zoey and Eleanor. The two girls nodded in agreement, and Eleanor wrapped her arm around Zoey, pulling her away and toward their room._ _ _ _ _ _

___________________ _ _ _ _ _

______Eleanor would be the first to admit, she didn’t know anything about Zoey._ _ _ _ _ _

______She also knew nothing about Jacob or Ryoken, and she didn’t know much about Miles, now that she thought about it. Yet those three weren’t terribly relevant. Zoey was the more pressing concern, seeing as the two were currently sharing a room._ _ _ _ _ _

______“You want left or right?” Zoey asked, as she eyed the two twin beds._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eleanor didn’t respond. She took her bag, threw it to the ground, and took a running jump onto the bed closest to her, landing face first. Unphased, Zoey sat down on the right bed._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Left it is,” Zoey muttered to herself as she slipped her shoes off._ _ _ _ _ _

______The black-haired girl walked into the bathroom, looking through the supplies provided. Miniscule tubes of toothpaste, smaller floss packets, and a flimsy toothbrush. Good enough, Zoey thought to herself, wishing she grabbed some toiletries back at the store when they bought clothes._ _ _ _ _ _

______Between brushing and flossing her teeth, Zoey called out to Eleanor._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I appreciate what you did for us back there,” Zoey said, loud enough for the young Mage to hear outside the bathroom. “Saving our skins like that at the safe room, I mean. I don’t know if I could’ve gotten through myself.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’m not so sure about that,” Eleanor mumbled, as she rolled over in her bed to face Zoey better. “I saw your moves back there, taking out that attacker. You’re an Oracle, aren’t you?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“You overheard our conversation?” Zoey asked as she stepped out of the bathroom._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eleanor shook her head. “No, just astute. There are maybe half a dozen magicians in the world that can do what you did without a Rune.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Have you figured out what it is?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eleanor thought for a moment. “Something involving ice, apparently.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Zoey chuckled, but wasn’t amused. “Technically, yes. I can control the temperature of any object I touch.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eleanor swore. “Oh, that’s why you had to put your hand on her face to activate your ability.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Right again,” Zoey replied._ _ _ _ _ _

______She was surprised by this girl. All her life, Zoey had met many Mages, but her parents always made them seem so...extremist. Like outsiders trying to ignore a larger community of superhumans. For every Mage Zoey met that seemed to know their shit about Oracles and Unknowns, there were five others that pretended they didn’t exist. Zoey tried to become the reverse: she was a mere Oracle--albeit a rather rare one--so she tried her hardest to know about the Mage community. Just where did this Eleanor Haley come from? Surely if she was a student at one of the Big Four schools she wouldn’t be out here in Los Angeles?_ _ _ _ _ _

______As Zoey sat back down on her bed, she faced Eleanor with a look of respect gleaming in her irises. “You seem like an interesting person. You know more than you let on.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eleanor grunted in agreement, before grabbing the covers and pulling them over her body, nonverbally expressing her displeasure for sycophany. Zoey rolled her eyes, and turned off the lamp between the two, plunging the room into inky shadows._ _ _ _ _ _

______In the darkness, Eleanor’s voice seemed quieter, softer. “So, what’s the deal with those other two boys?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Zoey sighed. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she looked Eleanor up and down in her bed. _Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to tell her, _Zoey thought to herself. _After all, she’s a total stranger. She has no connections to any other families. What’s the worst she could do? _______ _ _ _ _

__________“I didn’t expect to get into it now, but Ryoken and I were betrothed. Our parents arranged our marriage when we turn 18, and that’s in a few weeks, but I’ve never known him particularly well. I started dating Jacob in secret two years ago. I never expected any of this to happen, and quite frankly, if we do clear our names, I have no idea what’ll happen to any of us.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________In the dark, Eleanor blinked twice, dumbfounded. “...no, dumbass, I don’t care about your fucking love life. I mean are they Normals? If not, they might be of some help after all.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Zoey facepalmed. Of course this stranger didn’t want to hear about her love life. “...I’m not sure.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“You’re not sure?” Eleanor repeated._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Well, Jacob isn’t. He’s not an Oracle, at least. But with Ryoken I have my suspicions. Did you notice how he was covered in blood in the safehouse?” Zoey could see Eleanor’s silhouette, partially covered by blankets, nod in acknowledgement. “Well, he says that was because his brother--Raio--was protecting him, and shot one of the attackers in self-defense. But when Raio dropped him off at the safe room with Jacob and I, he didn’t have any weapons.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“What are you saying?” Eleanor asked._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“When I was a child, my mother told me that their father was an Oracle. The process for Normals becoming Oracles is...invasive, to say the least. Do you know about it?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Eleanor spoke after a moment of remembering. “I think my mother mentioned it to my sister and I when we were kids. It’s possible for Normals to either become Oracles through experimental drugs or genetic alterations.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The more this woman spoke, the more intrigued by her Zoey was. Not only did she have a sister (which meant that sister had a possibility of being a Mage), but she also seemed to have a mother that was extremely knowledgeable about these matters. Zoey made a mental note to ask Eleanor about her family in the future._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Uh, yes...that’s right. And like your mother said, the latter method affects us on a genetic level. Those genes can be passed on.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“You’re saying you think that Ryoken is an Oracle too, even if he hasn’t shown it?” Eleanor put together, standing up in her bed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Zoey nodded. “He’s a smart guy, but I doubt he realizes how likely this is. I’d bet anything Raio’s an Oracle too, and that’s how he was able to fight off his attackers at the Tower.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“You seem to hold him in high regard,” Eleanor noticed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Just because I don’t want to marry him, doesn’t mean I can’t respect his intelligence,” Zoey retorted. Eleanor groaned._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Ok, new rule: no boy talk. I’m sick of it already. Actually, scratch that: no talk. Just sleep.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Zoey nodded, a yawn escaping from her lips. She sank into the mattress, and slept for the first time in what felt like eons._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	19. Chapter 18: Miles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles investigates the Golden Rebellion, with some help from Zoey and Jacob.

“Everyone, put your phones in the center of the coffee table,” Zoey told the four. 

Eleanor and Zoey had gone into the boys’ room, and all five were getting ready for the day. It was the crack of dawn, a few minutes after 6 to be specific. As Zoey put on her purple leather jacket, Miles cocked his head to the side. 

“Uh, why?” he asked reluctantly. 

“Because we are going to destroy them,” Eleanor nonchalantly said as she threw her phone onto the coffee table. 

Miles clutched his phone to his chest upon hearing these words, but Ryoken--having just barely rolled out of bed and with his hair sticking up in all directions--reached down and pulled it out of Miles’ hands. 

“No, they’re right,” he told Miles. “I should’ve thought of this last night. If law enforcement is looking for us, they can most likely track our phones.”

Jacob gave a heavy sigh and reached into his pocket, throwing his own phone in the center. Ryoken followed shortly after, gently setting both his and Miles’ on the table. 

“Alright, everyone, stand back for a second,” Zoey told the four. She held out her left arm to push Eleanor away from the table, and extended her right arm forward. 

Almost instantly, an electrical current began traveling through her arm, ending at the tips of her fingers. Blood orange light surged out of her hand, and she held it closer to the pile of devices. Even from where Miles was standing, he could tell this wasn’t something he wanted to mess with. 

As Zoey walked closer, the plastic of the phones began to melt. The heat quickly caused the glass to crack on all of their phones. Eleanor’s gave off a spark of electricity, and the protective casing on Miles’ started to light on fire. Soon, all of their phones were reduced to a pile of sparks and mush, leaving a hot, black circle on the table. 

“Are you sure that’ll do it?” Ryoken asked. Zoey shot him a miffed look. 

“I’m positive, I know my abilities better than anyone,” she told him. Looking out at the group, it dawned on her once more the stakes of their journey. This was the point of no return; they couldn’t go back. 

“What do we do now?” Miles asked. “Do we start driving again?”

“No, not yet,” Eleanor answered. “First, we need information.”

She turned to Zoey, a silent gesture allowing the Oracle a chance to speak. Zoey nodded in agreement, and continued from where she left off. Turning to Ryoken, Jacob and Miles, she spoke. 

“We talked it over last night,” Zoey told the three. “We don’t know if Ryoken’s dad will have all the answers, but we’re on a time-crunch. We need some kind of information, and we need it soon.” 

“What are you proposing?” Ryoken asked, voice cool and collected as ever. 

“The day before the Gala, I saw someone a few miles out from the Tower, a member of the Golden Rebellion,” Eleanor answered. “I’m going to go find him. Ryoken I want you to come with me. He might be able to give out some answers on who orchestrated the attack.”

“How can you be sure that’d work?” Ryoken asked. “The Rebellion has been around for years. Surely, they’re organized enough that a mere grunt won’t know all the details.”

Miles nodded in agreement. “He’s right. My uncle is investigating them. He says they’re older than I am, and they’re hundreds of people strong.”

Miles winced at the thought of Nathan. “Or, at least, my uncle was investigating them,” he corrected. 

Eleanor gave Miles a soulful, sympathetic look. He flashed a weak, mirthless smile in turn, but made no attempt to hide his sadness. 

Zoey scanned the left side of the room, with Ryoken and Miles all standing close to each other. She couldn’t help but empathize with the two. If their plan worked and they cleared their names, Jacob and her could go back home, live their normal lives. But Miles lost his uncle last night, and Raio might have died as well, all without ever telling Ryoken about being an Oracle. 

But if Raio’s...disappearance was affecting Ryoken, the Fukunaga heir didn’t show it. 

“At the very least,” Eleanor continued, “it’s our only bet. But Miles, this is where you come in.”

He perked up at the mention of his name. Eleanor put a hand on his shoulder, looking him intently in the eye. 

“They caught us last night with those security cameras, right?” she told him. 

Miles nodded in agreement yet had a puzzled expression. “I’m...with you so far.”

“You said your dad was a security guard,” Eleanor amiably told him. “Would he have any of the footage with him?”

“I’m...not sure you understand the situation, Eleanor Haley,” Ryoken interrupted, arms crossed and a tightness in his eyes. “The Tower’s security cameras caught us, not Lawman securities.”

The two co-leaders scowled at each other. Miles put a thumb up to his chin, thinking aloud. 

“Now, wait a minute, Eleanor could be onto something,” he injected. “My dad’s company has some of its own machines. We might be able to find something useful on those, even if the Tower security was what caught us in the first place.”

“...so your dad might have proper video of us fleeing because we were being attacked, and not because we were the attackers?” Zoey pondered. 

“I...I’m really not sure,” Miles replied. “But like you two said,” he told Eleanor and Zoey, pointing two fingers at the both of them, “we don’t exactly have a lot of options.”

Ryoken grunted. “I doubt this is going to work, especially with how locked down the city is,” he told Eleanor and Zoey, barely containing his anger. “We’re taking an awfully big risk here for what could amount to little or no payoff. It’s not a great idea to break into a literal security company.”

Eleanor scoffed at him. While she’d appreciated his phlegmatic nature so far, she despised the unnecessary edge to many of his comments. The irony was lost on her that she was guilty of the same sins. 

Jacob placed a hand on Ryoken’s shoulder, tightening his grip around the shorter teen’s flesh. 

“Hey, lay off them,” Jacob told Ryoken, a fire burning in his juniper eyes. Ryoken instinctively glared back. Jacob turned to his girlfriend, and in an instant, that fire was replaced with an emerald-colored pride. “I, for one,” he told Zoey, a cheesy, toothy smile on his face, “think this is a great idea.” 

“Actually,” Miles realized, a lightbulb turning on in his head, “my dad might have all the footage on his computer. Usually, he keeps important stuff at work, but with how frantic everything is, he might find it safer to take it home.”

Ryoken growled and grabbed Jacob’s wrist, pulling his hand off him. “Fine. Zoey, Jacob, if you two think this is a good idea, go with Miles.” 

Ryoken turned and found Eleanor lowering at him. “Guess you and I are going back downtown, Fukunaga,” she told him, a spiteful smirk on her face. 

Miles was wishing he didn’t let Zoey destroy his phone with her awesome psychic powers. 

Sure, on paper, her point made perfect sense. They needed to be cautious, and they couldn’t let people track them. Sure, fine. Whatever. 

But what he didn’t account for was that 1) Los Angeles is a really, really huge city, and 2) he had no idea where the hell they were. Therefore, they’d spent over an hour driving what was, logically, a 30-minute car drive. 

“Ok, ok, this is starting to look familiar,” he told Ryoken. 

The five were on their way to Miles’ neighborhood, Ryoken once again driving on account of his massive trust issues and his immense protective instincts concerning the vehicle. Eleanor sat in the passenger seat, rolling her eyes. Jacob and Zoey were on either side of Miles, groaning in frustration. 

“Oh, really?” Eleanor sarcastically asked. “Because that’s what you said the last two times! And guess what!? You were wrong!” she shouted, turning around to bombard Miles with the full force of her voice. 

“Volume,” Ryoken murmured at her as he made a left turn. “Watch it.”

Eleanor shot Ryoken a scowl, but said nothing. 

“No, no, I’m positive this is it!” he told them. “This is the entrance!”

As Ryoken pulled close to the neighborhood, it occurred to him this was probably the first time seeing Los Angeles’ middle-class. Or, more specifically, any part of LA that wasn’t the Tower and its immediate surrounding vicinity. 

It was a peculiar sight. The neighborhood was gated in, with a ugly wall the color of cigarette smoke about 3 or 4 meters tall surrounding the entrance. The concrete was splashed with graffiti with all the care of a kindergartener painting; emblems of LA’s downtown gangs criss-crossed in a colorful rainbow that hurt to look at. 

Beyond this initial gate, they got a better look at the inside. Sewer grates were overflowing with suspicious black and brown liquids that one could only assume were once water, adjacent to a lampost that was half broken-off. More importantly, LAPD officers roamed the outside. 

Even this far out from the attack, the authorities exercised every level of caution, with uniformed and armed officers in every major neighborhood. These officers in particular were the Redguard, one of the higher levels of authority in the LAPD. Named after their scarlet uniform and maroon helmets, they were stationed at several major corners, walking up and down the cracked streets caked with children’s chalk. With batons drawn, wireless radios activated and their fingers ready to draw silver-clad handguns, they weren’t exactly a force that Miles was itching to deal with. 

“This isn’t good,” Miles whispered. “I didn’t realize there would be this many people out here.” 

“They’re looking for you, aren’t they, Miles?” Zoey asked. “They knew this was where you lived.” 

Ryoken swore under his breath. “Miles, do you know any other way to get in?” he asked, his eagle eyes gazing at the overcrowded and tightly-patrolled entrance. 

Miles thought for a moment, thumb on his chin. “My family’s house is close to the back of the wall. If you can sneak us over, I think we could hop the fence.”

Ryoken thought over that for a moment. He hadn’t even considered the LAPD sending guards to Miles’ home. He felt idiotic for considering this, but he knew now; he would need to think two steps ahead if he wanted to keep this journey going. 

Ryoken pulled up to the back as slow as he could. From here, the neighborhood looked even uglier, with patches of dead brown-and-orange grass lining the bottom of the wall. He was relieved the wall was shorter on this side, at least. 

As Miles crawled out of the car, he gave Ryoken and Eleanor a quick glance. 

“Do you remember the plan?” Eleanor asked him. Miles nodded. 

“After I download the files, sneak over the wall the way we came, and meet you guys in the adjacent neighborhood in an hour and a half.”

Eleanor gave him a thumbs up. Ryoken was...less encouraging. 

“Get the hell out there,” Ryoken commanded. “We’re burning daylight.” 

Miles slipped out of the backseat, gently closing the car door behind him, and Ryoken sped off. 

He, Zoey and Jacob approached the wall. Zoey scanned it up and down, hands on her hips. 

“How are we doing this?” she asked, holding her hand out to block the blinding sun. 

Jacob got on one knee and put his open palms together, leaning against the wall. “Miles, get up there and then pull me up,” he told the shorter boy. 

Miles looked flabbergasted. “I...don’t have the upper body strength to pull you up,” he squeakily admitted. 

Zoey allowed herself to smile at that. Even now, Miles Lawman was nothing if not brutally honest. Jacob dropped his head in disappointment, before looking back up at Miles. 

“It’s gonna be alright, don’t worry about it,” he assured Miles. The shorter boy shrugged, and raised his right foot. 

Holding his right hand against the wall for balance, Miles placed his foot in Jacob’s hands. Jacob started to rise to his feet while extending his arms in equal measure, pushing Miles higher and higher up the wall. Miles started to raise his own hands, not just for balance but to grip onto anything. 

While a bit difficult with the burning, beaming sun, Miles’ fingertips found the top of the wall. “Got it!” he hissed victoriously. Gripping the edge, he lifted his foot off Jacob’s palms and planted them flat against the concrete, pulling himself to the top. 

Zoey was next. Jacob supported her weight and pushed her to the top. It was a bit easier, as Miles held out his hand and helped pull her to the top. Finally, it was Jacob’s turn. After looking left and right to make sure nobody was watching, he took a running start at the wall and scaled a couple feet up, before Zoey and Miles each grabbed an arm and helped him to the top. 

Once this was over, the three dropped down from the wall, trying to land as quietly as three untrained teenagers could while falling off a drop of that height. Miles looked up, and was hit with a wave of familiarity. 

“Ah,” he said airily, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. “Home.”

The three found themselves in the Lawman backyard. Despite the familiar location, Miles was in no position to take his time, not with this many Redguards patrolling. He quickly shuffled across the tiny yard and laid his body against the house, making sure to stay low and under any windows. Jacob and Zoey mimicked his movements, following closely behind. 

Once they reached a window near the right corner of the house, Miles poked his head up, making sure no one was around. 

He heard voices, but could see none of his family. Excellent. 

Slipping his fingers in a small gap in the window, Miles pried it open slowly. Once the window was open all the way, he ushered for Zoey and Jacob to come inside. 

Crawling through, Miles found himself at the foot of the stairs. He scaled his way up, making sure to avoid all the squeaky steps, and found himself in front of his father’s office. 

Here, the voices were clearer and louder than before. 

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice cooed. 

“Mom, where is he?”

“We don’t know, Mattie.”

“The news said...the news said that he’s a bad guy!”

Miles’ heart pounded in his chest. His mother and younger brother were in the adjacent room, talking about...him. 

“Oh, baby, they don’t know him like we do,” Viola assured her youngest son. “I’m sure your brother didn’t do anything bad. This is all just a big misunderstanding.”

Matt’s next words were muffled, as if Viola pulled him into a hug, burying his face in the shoulder of her gown. “You’re positive?” the young boy asked. 

“100 percent certain,” Viola affirmed. 

Miles thought he was going to faint, but he had a mission. He waved for Jacob and Zoey to follow, and they mirrored his movements, down to the steps he avoided on the staircase. 

Miles walked into the closest room, the door already open. It was a small, cramped area with a dusty monitor and a scratched white desk to the right; to the left stood a creaking bookshelf with a combination of classic literature, advanced textbooks and young adult literature. In an instant, Miles was booting up the computer, sifting through the cluttered Desktop to find something--anything--from the night prior. 

“Miles, are you sure this is a good idea?” Zoey hissed. “There are people here!”

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Miles replied without taking his eyes off the computer. He leaned over and shut the door, turning the doorknob inwards as he closed it to minimize the noise. 

“As long as we stay quiet, we’ll be fine,” he told them. Zoey and Jacob exchanged uncertain looks, but hey, they’d already come this far. 

After a few minutes of searching, Miles stumbled across a folder. “Bingo!” he excitedly whispered. 

He opened it, revealing massive quantities of videos, all dated from the previous night. “This must be it,” he whispered, giving a quick look at the door to make sure no one was around. He fiddled with the settings, turned off the volume, and pressed play. 

The videos came up in a new window, all playing simultaneously. They weren’t from the upper floors, where Eleanor fought against the guard last night, but most of them were from the lower levels. Jacob silently fist-pumped at their progress, and Miles scanned through the videos, eager for new footage. 

“Come on, come on,” he murmured. “Please, please, please, pleasepleasepleasepl--”

“There you are!” Jacob exclaimed, pointing at the screen. 

He pointed to one of the screens. He had to zoom in, and with each zoom the quality worsened, but there they were: him and Eleanor chatting. Checking the timestamp in the corner, this must have been when they first met. 

“Now, we just need to fast-forward,” Miles said. “If we can just find footage of those Mages attacking us, we can prove we weren’t working with them.”

Miles clicked the icon in the bottom with two right-pointing arrows. Everyone began moving at an accelerated pace: guests eating food, waiters serving it, and people taking seats all happened at a breakneck speed. In the corner of the screen, the windows began to break--when the Rebellion vanguard first arrived…

And then blackness. 

“What?” Zoey asked. “What happened?”

“I think you went too far,” Jacob suggested, speaking to Miles. 

Taking their suggestions to heart, Miles rewound the footage to the mere seconds before the vanguards stormed in. Playing it at a normal speed, he could make out events more clearly. That blonde woman--Astraea, he recalled--began giving her speech...and then blackness. 

“Oh, no,” Zoey said with a gasp. 

Panicked, Miles began rewinding the footage. He played it an additional two more times at the moment the video cut out, and he tried to fast-forward to the end of the night, but there was nothing. 

“Miles, I think they cut the video,” Zoey concluded. 

Miles felt like his mind was going to snap. He put his head in his hands, wondering how he could be so stupid. He saw it with his own eyes; last night was a coordinated attack. **Of course **the Rebellion cut the video. They were smarter than he gave them credit for.****

****“Mom, are you in there?” Matt called from the other room.** **

****The three froze. Jacob and Zoey looked to Miles for leadership, but were met with nothing but anxious glances at the door.** **

****In a blink, the three scrambled to different parts of the room. Miles rolled under the desk, raising his feet so they couldn’t be seen. Jacob pressed his body against a space between the bookshelf and the wall. Zoey ran behind the door just as it opened, unnoticed by Matt.** **

****The curious 12-year old only found his father’s work computer, with dozens of tabs showing pitch-blackness. Matt Lawman hummed a tune as he strolled over, turned off the monitor, and walked back into the hallway, either unaware of the visitors in the study or unconcerned by their presence.** **

****Zoey poked her head out, looking at Miles.** **

****“We should get out of here,” Zoey told him.** **

****Miles nodded. He rose to his feet and leaned down, ready to shut off the computer, when the footage cut back.** **

****The blackness of the cameras had been replaced with carnage, fire, blood. Golden Rebellion soldiers were gunning down civilians, cops frantically rushed to their aid, spells flew through the air, and the walls were caked with red.** **

****The footage was captured from the Main Hall. And in the center of it all…** **

****“Nathan?”** **

****Miles zoomed in on the monitor. His uncle was darting from cover to cover, returning fire to any Rebellion soldiers he saw and helping partygoers to their feet. Tears pricked the corner of Miles’ eyes. The last night Nathan was alive, he was doing what he loved: helping people.** **

****“What the hell is that?” Jacob asked. In the upper left corner of the screen, a strange, black shape practically appeared out of nowhere, taking an almost humanoid-shape.** **

****“That’s not...one of their men, right?” Zoey asked.** **

****“I have no idea,” Miles gave.** **

****In the security footage, the shadow stood taller and taller, its arms stretching and contorting into blades. It approached his uncle from behind, closer and closer, and in the footage, Nathan didn’t even notice until it was almost on top of him.** **

****Zoey and Jacob looked away, but Miles’ gaze remained fixed on the screen. The living shadow plunged a blade into Nathan’s back, gutting him as if it were a hot knife through butter. Warm blood soaked the carpet, and Nathan Levinski fell to the floor, dead.** **

****Jacob put his hand on Miles’ shoulders, as Zoey bent down and turned off the computer. “Hey, man, you don’t need to keep watching this. Let’s get out of here.”** **

****Miles nodded, eyes wide, hands shaky. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost. For all he knew, he might have.** **


	20. Chapter 19: Eleanor and Ryoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor and Ryoken follow their own leads, having split off from the rest of the group. Along the way, Ryoken learns more about magic and the world.

“How do we know that Miles’ plan is going to work?”

After dropping Miles, Jacob and Zoey off, it was the first thing Ryoken had told Eleanor during their car drive. Eleanor rested her head against the window. 

“We don’t,” she quickly admitted. 

Ryoken gripped the steering wheel a tad harder, but said nothing. 

“We’re taking a gamble, Ryoken,” Eleanor explained. “All of us. We don’t know if your father has the answers. We don’t know if anyone will be here at this street corner. We don’t know if Miles’ dad has any video files to clear our name.”

“We don’t even know if we  **can** clear our names,” Ryoken hissed. She opened her mouth, and then closed it. There was nothing Eleanor could say to Ryoken that would be both comforting and truthful. 

The two sat in silence for a few more minutes, only interrupted by Eleanor occasionally giving Ryoken directions. If nothing else, she at least knew the city better than Miles. 

“I never took you for a gambler,” he joked. 

“I didn’t know you took me for anything,” she spat back, eyes transfixed on the road. “You barely know me.”

“I know enough,” he gave. 

Before she could come up with a spectacular comeback, Eleanor felt overcome with a sense of familiarity. Glancing at the street signs, she knew this was the right spot. “Stop here,” she breathed as they approached the spot. 

Ryoken pulled onto the side of the road, ripping the keys out of the ignition. He stood in the street for only a moment, soaking in the weather, before he reached back in. Snuggled away in the pocket on his car door, he pulled out a pair of thin rectangular glasses, extraordinarily comfortable but just barely enough glass to keep the scorching sun out of his eyes. He looked to Eleanor for a moment, the glasses covering a pitying look in his black eyes, and he reached down, grabbing a spare and tossing them to her. 

She noticed at the last second, catching the glasses and putting them on, a completely silent exchange between the two. They were a bit loose, and she had to push them up the bridge of her nose, but they would do. 

“Show me where he is,” Ryoken ordered. Without saying a word, Eleanor began walking forward, leading the way. He followed two steps behind. 

Eleanor found herself plagued by sadness. The last time she was here, she was buying groceries for her and her sister. Now, she didn’t even know if Nadia was alive. 

_ No!  _ Eleanor immediately thought to herself.  _ Don’t think like that. She has to be alive. She just has to be.  _

With each step, Eleanor could hear Nadia’s laugh, and see her thin hair, her bright eyes.  _ If she isn’t...I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ll have nothing to live for.  _

Her eyes settled on a familiar, scrawny figure and his stack of papers. The same man from yesterday afternoon. The streets were almost completely empty now, with only a few passerbys. This time, the man didn’t shout through a megaphone. He said nothing. In fact, he seemed to be getting ready to leave, aware that his message would reach no one in these trying times. His face was bruised, purple and dark blue all over, the aftermath of his beating the prior day. 

Eleanor clenched her fist. Once upon a time, she might have agreed with his message. In fact, on paper, she agreed wholeheartedly. The elite living in the Tower were ruining life in Los Angeles: they’d ignored their mission to help the needy, and the constant extravagance they flaunted to the entire city only furthered the divide between rich and poor. 

But it was impossible for Eleanor to separate the message from the messenger. After everything that had happened last night--and everything that had happened before--she couldn’t stomach it. The prior day cemented what Eleanor had already suspected for years: the Golden Rebellion were mass murderers, good intentions be damned. 

She stormed forward, ready to confront him, but Ryoken grabbed her wrist, holding her back. 

“What?!” she hissed at him. He held an outstretched index finger to his lips in a ‘keep quiet’ gesture, and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. “At least do a better job to hide yourself. Remember, everyone in the city has probably seen our faces.”

For as much as his pejorative tendencies annoyed her, Eleanor knew that if nothing else, Ryoken was right more often than not. That much she gathered in their short time together. She pulled her own hood over her face, making sure to adjust her sunglasses to better cover her eyes. For good measure, she pulled some of her hair over the left side of her face, further obscuring her. 

Ryoken nodded in agreement, and the two turned around…

Only to find someone else beat them to their target. 

The man was on the ground, this time being restrained by Redguards. One guard was pressing his entire arm against the back of the man’s head; his face was buried into the asphalt, scraping his skin against the rough ground and drawing blood. He turned his face just enough for Ryoken and Eleanor to hear his next words eerily echo across the otherwise abandoned streets. 

“You can’t do this to me! Let me go! I have rights!”

The two Redguards said nothing. One nodded to the other, and pulled out a thin, black handgun. 

“I haven’t even done anything! You guys just detained me yesterday! Please, you can’t--”

BANG. 

The gunshot sounded like a clap of thunder on a quiet night. Eleanor held her hands against her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Blood and brains flowed down the streets as if it were rainwater off the roof of a house. The two Redguards stood up. The left put his smoking gun back in a holster. The right looked up from the corpse they had just created, his cold, black visor meeting Eleanor’s gaze. 

Ryoken pulled Eleanor off the end of the street, practically dragging her away. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” He spoke in a hushed tone, numb to the sight before him. 

They barely made it four steps before Ryoken crashed into someone. The man stood a head taller than Ryoken, and as Ryoken’s face collided with the man’s chest, the Fukunaga heir lost his thin sunglasses, his hood sliding slightly off the top of his head. 

“Hey, watch it…”

Ryoken trailed off as he looked the citizen up and down. He was dressed from head-to-toe in scarlet, with a helmet over his wide head and a thick black visor. 

Oh, it was another Redguard. 

“Eleanor,  **scram!** ” Ryoken shouted. 

The Redguard reached for his pistol, shouting for the others to come to him. In an instant, Eleanor reached her left hand out, and a black Rune covered her hand. 

A corresponding black Rune connected the man’s hand, gun and holster. He found himself unable to remove the weapon, and as he struggled, Ryoken and Eleanor ran past him, Ryoken on his left and Eleanor on his right. 

Within mere seconds, the two were back in the car, Ryoken frantically shifting the car into “Drive”. The two other crimson-clad officers left behind the corpse of the Golden Rebellion member, chasing Ryoken’s car briefly. One of them pulled out his pistol, firing a shot at Ryoken’s car. Ryoken could feel the impact resonate throughout the vehicle as he peeled away. 

Ryoken sped down the highway, the two trying to catch their breath as Eleanor came to terms with the fact that this made the second person that tried to shoot her in less than 24 hours. “We need to find the other three,” Eleanor mumbled, her pulse still pounding in her head. 

She was breathing heavy. Ryoken looked over at Eleanor, at her hands. 

“What the hell did you do to him?” Ryoken asked. “That spell you cast, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“My mom taught it to me,” Eleanor breathed. “It’s called Bind. It’s a lower-tier spell, only D-Rank, so it doesn’t use too much mana, but it’s a pretty useful Rune. It just takes two objects and basically puts them together. It would be like trying to pull a screw off an ultra-powerful magnet.”

Ryoken understood the function of the spell, but some of her terminology puzzled him. “D-Rank?”

Eleanor closed her eyes. “Runes are ranked on a scale of D to A. Those are called Tiers. Those combustion Runes they used last night to create those explosions were probably B or C-Rank. Tiers and Ranks indicate how much mana is needed, and mana is just the fuel we Mages use for Runes.”

Ryoken nodded. “So the more mana needed, the more powerful the Rune is. It’s a high-risk, high-reward system.”

He rotated the wheel, and the card turned into a small backroad. A few homeless residents gave an odd look at the luxury automobile riddled with bullet holes, but they said nothing. Ryoken looked behind him, making sure no cops were on their tail. 

Eleanor nodded. “Exactly. I’ve heard...well, they’re nothing more than stories, really, about some of the Mages in the One Year War.”

She remembered reading about it in books. The One Year War had been the biggest conflict between the Mages, Oracles and Unknowns at that point in history; the resulting treaty led to the creation of the Tower of Hope, and of the Seven Families. She’d only been born a few years after it ended. 

“Some of those Mages--well, shit, they could do amazing things. Their mana pools were bigger than I could ever dream of. They could effortlessly create solid weapons out of air and light, combine elements in ways I’d never even imagined.”

“You sound like you know a lot about them.”

“We didn’t grow up here,” Eleanor explained, nervously playing with a strand of blonde hair as she looked out the window. “I lived in the Midwest for a few years, before our mom moved across the country and took Nadia and I with her.”

Ryoken hummed. That made sense. While no government officials or law enforcement would acknowledge it, for fear of creating a scandal (or, in some rare cases, betraying their fellow Mages), the Midwest was home to a couple of neighborhoods and areas more magic-friendly than most. It still had legal restrictions in most parts of the world, if not being outright illegal, but over in Minnesota or Wisconsin, if an officer saw someone lighting a Fire Rune to keep themselves warm in the winter, or a Glow Rune in a dimly-lit area, they’d probably look the other way. 

“The schools back there taught me a lot about this stuff. Over here, it’s not exactly the most accepted thing.”

Eleanor thought back to Claus. How impatient would have been with her, and how short would his temper have been, if she was just a normal girl? If her mother wasn’t a documented Mage?

Eleanor cracked a smile. It’d been the first time she thought of Claus in a while.  _ I’m sure he’s losing his shit right now _ , she thought. 

“Tensions have been high for years,” Ryoken told her. “The Dunlows and Keseckers have hated each other since the dawn of time, the Silent Clan just keeps getting bigger, and nobody has any patience for the Caruso’s after all the shit they’ve pulled. We might as well have been wrestling for a lighter in a lake of gasoline.”

Eleanor looked out the window. They’d long since gunned away from the marketplaces downtown. She wasn’t 100% sure they were in the clear, but she could at least breathe a bit easier. She spoke. 

“You sayin’ this was inevitable?” she asked, voice low. “That attack, and all those lives lost?”

Ryoken shrugged. “It sure feels that way, don’t you think?”

Eleanor shook her head. “No. No, I don’t. That makes it almost sound like it was predestined, by fate or nature or some shit. The idea that Nadia was fated to be taken, or that Miles’ uncle was fated to die, just feels too fucked up.”

“I don’t believe in fate,” Ryoken told her. “And you don’t seem like you do either. But it was the most likely result.” LA was one of the top five cities in the world with the highest concentration of Mages, Oracles and Unknowns. Was it pure coincidence? Or a never ending cycle, with each new wave of superpowered people looking for company and companionship? 

How would this have ended any other way, besides everyone trying to kill each other? Was the One Year War just the first of many?

“Sometimes, the most likely scenario is the most fucked up,” he said. 

__________

It would be another twenty minutes before they found the other three. Ryoken pulled up to the dirt road adjacent to the back wall of Miles’ neighborhood. Within seconds, and without Ryoken even needing to come to a stop all the way, he saw Jacob, Zoey and Miles emerge from a nearby alley out of the corner of his eye. 

The three ran into the car, not bothering to buckle in as Ryoken sped away. 

“Hey, Ryoken?” Miles asked, looking towards the side of the car. “Are those--”

“Bullet holes, yes,” Ryoken interrupted. “Our trip wasn’t exactly successful.”

Jacob groaned in frustration. “Please tell us that your trip yielded something useful,” Eleanor told the three in the backseat. 

After a few moments of silence, with Zoey and Jacob each looking to Miles to give an explanation, Eleanor took the hint. “Shit,” she hissed. “Today was a waste for all of us.”

“Just like I said it would be,” Ryoken explained. Eleanor hit him in the shoulder. “Just drive, Fukunaga.”


	21. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We know, Miles,” Eleanor told him. “We’re gonna find the people who killed Nathan, who murdered Raio, who hurt my baby sister. And we’re gonna make them pay. Every. Single. One of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my FAVORITE fucking chapter I've written for this story, and coincidentally, the last one in my backlog I actually have finished ;)

That afternoon, the five went back on the road. It would be another two hours before they broke out of the city limits of Los Angeles, and Miles finally found himself breathing easier. It was...hard, being back in his home today but knowing that nothing would ever be the same again. The farther away he got from the city he was born and raised in, the more this sense of sadness grew. At the same time, they couldn’t afford any risks. Los Angeles was a notoriously dense city, with the largest (and most brutal) police population this side of the Mississippi. It was a miracle the police put most neighborhoods on lockdown, or a civilian would have likely seen and reported them today. 

They drove for most of the day, taking dirt roads and going through abandoned towns to avoid detection, either by the police or by other people. Everyone seemed to be in a terrible mood, unsurprising considering their failures. For what it was worth, Ryoken had some kind of a smug “I told you so look” on his face for part of the day, and Miles wanted nothing more than to wipe it off. 

Here, crammed in the backseat of a luxurious car (riddled with bullet holes no less) worth more than Miles’ entire house, it began to settle in how absurd this situation was. A part of him thought he was still dreaming. He was in here with one of the nicest girls he’d ever met who could seemingly control temperature with her mind (?); her hotheaded boyfriend, who looked like he could fight a bear and win; a stone-cold Japanese pretty boy who had some kind of tension with the former two; and a loner Mage who was nice to him and him alone. 

If he hadn’t spent the day sneaking into his own house, and the prior night fleeing from Mages, he wouldn’t have believed any of this. 

At night, the five found a dumpy hotel to stay in. Miles had passed out for the last two hours; considering the pace they were driving at, they’d probably made it about 100 miles from LA. This was the farthest he’d ever been from home. 

“I’m just warning everyone, I need to run an errand tonight,” Ryoken said, after what might have been literal hours of silence. 

Zoey and Jacob had been resting on each other for the last hour or so, but both suddenly perked up. Eleanor cocked an eyebrow at their driver. “What kind of errand?” the Mage asked. 

“I know someone in this town,” Ryoken said, with far more casualty and flatness in his voice than Miles would have expected from someone who got shot at earlier in the day. “He’s a mechanic. Big friend of my family, has his own shop. He owes my brother a favor. The Redguard saw my car. They know it has bullet holes in it. I need to get rid of this car, trade it for something else.”

Miles groaned. The only reason he’d been able to get as much sleep as he did was because of the fancy leather seats in this car. He would miss it dearly. Eleanor mulled over Ryoken’s words. 

“That makes sense,” she said finally. “Do you want someone to come with you?”

“You don’t have to,” he told her. “It’ll be nice to drive on my own for once, get some fresh air.”

Zoey and Jacob exchanged a look, and Zoey piped up. “No need. I’ll come with you. Just where exactly is this mechanic?”

Ryoken gave a slight eye roll when his fiance interjected, but he brushed past it. “About fifteen minutes west of here. My brother and I flew out here about a year ago to congratulate him on his new autoshop. I remember there’s a hotel nearby.”

“Really?” Miles asked, excited. “Some awesome, 5-star one with room service?”

Ryoken smiled a bit at Miles’ enthusiasm; a dry, sour smile. “No. It’s one I’ve never stayed at. I’d never stoop so low. It seemed run-down and dumpy, but it’ll do the trick.” Miles couldn’t help but mope at his words. 

“It doesn’t matter where we stay,” Eleanor added on. “As long as we can get out of there early in the morning, and nobody recognizes us, those are the only things that matter. The more run-down, the smaller the staff usually is, the less people that could report us to the police. Even if we get far away from LA, we’ll want to avoid those big hotels as much as possible.”

Miles thanked the various gods that last night’s “Wanted” announcement came so late. By the time they got a motel, the receptionist probably hadn’t even seen the news yet. It was a good thing they made as much distance today as they did, even after their diversions early in the morning; Los Angeles was an incredibly advanced town, but also one that was supremely isolated. It had been ever since the One Year War. The farther away they got from that metropolis, the less likely anyone is to notice they were outlaws. 

They pulled into the hotel after sundown. Eleanor and Ryoken didn’t think spending too much money on rooms was wise, and they asked for one room for everyone to share. They figured two people could take the beds, one the small futon, and the other two could sleep on the floor. 

Miles and Eleanor eagerly rushed to the room, what few supplies they had in hand. Zoey lagged a few steps behind. Ryoken hit the “park” button on the keys and his car let out a small beep. Jacob was the last to squeeze himself out of the car, and he awkwardly leaned against the vehicle, as if waiting for something. Ryoken spared him a glance, before turning on his heels and following Zoey. 

“Actually, Ryoken, could I talk to you?”

For some reason, Jacob’s voice took Ryoken by surprise. Considering the...odd dynamic the two of them had, Ryoken had been content with never speaking to the younger Micolta son for the entire trip. It seemed like the best case scenario, in fact. 

“What about?” Ryoken asked. 

Jacob scratched his neck, a nervous tic. “Um...shit, sorry, I’m not very good at saying stuff like this, but when we went to the Lawman house, I guess I was just thinking…”

Ryoken was impatiently tapping his foot on the sidewalk, arms folded, eyes narrowed. It wasn’t exactly helping Jacob’s nervousness. 

“Um...well, shit, I just wanted to say...thanks, I guess.” Jacob could barely meet Ryoken’s gaze, and for the love of god, Ryoken couldn’t tell if Jacob was genuinely nervous or just trying desperately to swallow his own pride. 

Ryoken unfolded his arms. “What for?”

“Uh, last night,” Jacob said. “You...really took charge. And it’s kind of hard to admit, but you were a lot more helpful than I was. I’m sure, if you weren’t around...well, I don’t want to even think of what would’ve happened to Zoey.”

Ryoken kept waiting for Jacob to say “and I,” but it never came. That sort of selflessness felt foreign to Ryoken, in a way that made him feel oddly uncomfortable. 

“...Don’t mention it,” Ryoken said after a moment. He wanted to add some snarky comment on the end like “Seriously, don’t,” or maybe tell Jacob that Eleanor and Zoey were far more useful in eliminating the Golden Rebellion’s vanguard than he was, but he chose to leave the sentence at that. 

“Anyways, we should probably head up to the room,” Jacob said. “Just wanted to say that.”

__________

“Dibs on the futon,” Jacob said as soon as he walked in. Nobody gave him any objections. Miles nervously looked to Ryoken, then to Zoey, and finally to Eleanor. “So...who’s taking the beds?” 

Eleanor shrugged. “I can take the floor. I’m used to sleeping on one. I’m gonna head to the receptionists desk and grab some blankets in just a second.”

“I can take the floor as well,” Ryoken uttered. 

Zoey looked at Miles. “Sweet, you and I get the beds!” she told him, with her characteristic unwavering enthusiasm. Zoey jumped on one, immediately burying her face in the pillow. It had been a long day for everyone. 

Ryoken took a spare pillow off Zoey’s bed and an unused sheet on the end of Miles’ and put them on the ground, forming a small bed for himself. He looked to Jacob, and the taller man met his eye, an unspoken agreement between them. 

It had been less than a minute after he laid out his stuff, and Ryoken was already grabbing his keys and ready to get back out. 

“Alright everyone, I’ll be back within the hour,” he told his four companions as they got acquainted with the room. 

Eleanor gave him a look. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks.” Ryoken rolled his eyes, but behind that annoyance, the Japanese heir had a somber expression on his face. This vehicle had been his baby for years, ever since his dad made the not-so-wise decision to give Ryoken a customized million-dollar car before he was legally allowed to drive. He’d never driven anything else. 

‘Twas the end of an era. 

Immediately, Zoey rose to her feet and was putting her leather jacket back on. “Not so fast,” she told him with a wag of her finger. “I wasn’t lying earlier. I’ll come with you and keep you company.”

Ryoken looked at Zoey. He said nothing, and his face revealed no discernible emotion attached to her response. “Alright,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “Knock yourself out. But let’s get moving quick.”

Zoey gave Jacob a peck on the lips before tagging along Ryoken, the two making their way out to his car. 

The two made their way to the car, the sky now a chalky coal color. With the keys in hand, Ryoken crawled into the driver's seat, Zoey sliding into shotgun. The small bronze keys shook slightly in his hand, hovering over the ignition. 

“You gonna tell me what this is really about?” Ryoken asked. 

Zoey didn’t meet his gaze. She looked out the windshield, as if the black nothingness of this tiny town suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the universe. She spoke. 

“How much do you know about Oracles?”

“Not as much as you.”

“I’m being serious, Ryo.” Her voice was this bizarre amalgam, a slight edge masked underneath genuine concern. 

“So am I,” he said. “And don’t call me Ryo. Only Raio can call me that.” Ryoken’s use of present tense to refer to his brother almost flew over Zoey’s radar. Almost. 

“You know...the process, right?” she asked, gesturing slightly with her left hand. 

“How’d it happen with you?” he replied. A question in response to a question. It was an infuriating but oh-so-Ryo non-answer that made Zoey question if he actually knew anything about his brother’s powers. 

“Hereditary,” she mumbled. “My parents were both Oracles. I inherited my dad’s powers.”

Ryoken finally stuck the keys in the ignition and turned on the car, pulling out of the parking lot without looking behind him. After a minute, Zoey reminded him to turn on his lights. 

They were 10 minutes from the mechanic’s before Zoey spoke again. “There are three ways someone can obtain the powers of an Oracle,” she informed him. “The first is through genetic experimentation on a microscopic level. Essentially rewriting their DNA.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“It is. My father underwent this. It can only be done when you’re still young and growing. My grandfather...used him as a labrat, basically. Signed him up for the procedure when he was 4.”

Ryoken shook his head in disappointment. Pity. “Your mum?”

“She went the second route,” Zoey said. Flickering street lights cast streaks of gold and white across her face with each passing block. “Drug therapy. Injecting a special serum into the spine on a regular basis.”

“Sounds...horrible.”

Zoey laughed. “Yeah. Makes genetically rewriting someone’s DNA look like a walk in the park.” She paused for a moment. “Well, drug transformation is a lot simpler, but more time-consuming. It’s painful, but the risks of mutation or deformation are abysmal.” 

Ryoken sensed there was a “but” to that sentence. He prodded. “Then why doesn’t everyone do it?”

Zoey looked at him. “Besides the time commitment? Well, it has its own set of side-effects.”

It felt so strange to open up to someone like this. No, not just someone, but Ryoken. Her “childhood sweetheart” the tabloids wouldn’t shut up about. Someone who--as far as she knew, up until a couple days ago--didn’t give a rat’s ass about her. Someone who’d been to awkward family visits and horrible playdates ever since they could walk, yet knew nothing about her family. Her life. 

“Remember that pool we used to have?” she asked, voice gentle. “At our place in San Diego?”

Ryoken nodded, and was whisked away into memories he’d rather forget. Of their parents trying so hard to make this betrothal work. Of Zoey--no older than 7, and hungry for human interaction outside her family--trying to convince an annoyed Ryoken to come swim with her at a pool too big for one child, and him always giving in. How the water was always a little bit too cold, how mad he’d been, but how much fun he’d always have. How, even at the time, he acknowledged that Zoey might not be so bad, but how he’d rather drop dead than admit it. 

Ryoken grunted. “No,” he answered. “Remind me.”

Zoey shot him a side-eye. “Your dad would always make you swim with me. My mum would watch over us.”

Ah, now that was something Ryoken had genuinely forgotten about. Mrs. Lovrin: an aloof and strange woman. She’d been raised in London and spent most summers there with her parents. She never seemed happy about having to watch Zoey--her own blood--let alone Ryoken. 

“She always wore way too many clothes,” Ryoken finally said. “She hated water. I never saw her swimming with us.” He thought he had an idea on where this was going. 

The brunette nodded. “She loved swimming, but never liked it when other people saw.”

“Saw what?” he asked, the answer already forming in his mind. 

Zoey reached behind, touching her back, the tip of her elbow grazing the roof of the car. “She had scars...all over her back. Some of those still hurt something fierce, even after all those years. They were all from the drugs. Her parents made her take them every month, from ages 8 to 18.”

Ryoken shook his head, and for a moment, he wished Zoey’s grandparents were around for him to punch. “Jesus.” 

“Right? It was...always kind of fucked up.” She rested her chin in her hand. “I was always so, so glad my father got the procedure that he did. The third method I mentioned? Of becoming an Oracle? Inheriting your powers from someone who already underwent genetic rewriting. I guess whatever they did to my father, and all those other kids who underwent those procedures in the 2000s, also fucked with whatever genetic information pertained to reproduction. Now, we’re all a bunch of Oracles.”

“That’s why I can do this.” She held out both hands. In her left, the skin glowed warm, and became hot to the touch. On the right, the skin froze over in a thin layer of frost. 

“The Lovrin family is one of Oracles, dating back decades. Now, all of my siblings and their descendants will be Oracles, because of what happened with my dad. My grandparents made my dad marry an Oracle. It wouldn’t have been too different from what happened with us, actually.”

She spoke in the past tense. He couldn’t blame her. The wedding of the century seemed lost to the ashes of the Tower of Paradise. They’d already scheduled everything, hired the caterers and stylists and seamstresses months in advance. Those stupid wedding invitations probably still said mid-September. No chance of joining their families together in holy matrimony when the two betrothed became fugitives and ran off. 

Ryoken, however, was less puzzled by the reminder of the wedding, and more by her implications regarding their engagement. 

“Wait, what do you mean?” he asked. 

Zoey was looking at him like he’d grown a second head. “You...I…”

“Wait, is this why you started talking about Oracles? About your parents?” he asked. Zoey expected a fragrance of hostility, or a cautionary tone to his voice, but there was...nothing. His tone was totally flat, his words devoid of fear or emotional attachment. 

“Ryo, what did you think this conversation was about?” Ryoken couldn’t help but feel a bit foolish. All this time, she’d been quizzing him, trying to see if his knowledge on Oracles held up to his knowledge on Raio. “If an Oracle’s psychic abilities are hereditary...there’s a chance your brother might not be the only one in the Fukunaga family.”

“You think my brother inherited his abilities from…”

“One of your parents, probably,” Zoey said. “And if that’s the case, there’s...a good chance you’re one too.”

Ryoken hummed, squinting his eyes in thought. “I remember how your brother would come with us, some of those days we went swimming in San Diego. He...he didn’t have any scars.”

Ryoken turned to her for a split-second. “He could’ve undergone the same genetic rewriting your father did.” 

Zoey shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I know. I just...thought you should be aware. You could have powers similar to your brother.”

Ryoken said nothing. Masked in the dark of night, his already neutral expression was even harder to read. “Ryo? You alright?” she asked, gently poking him in the arm. 

He cleared his throat, eyes fixed on the path ahead. “I’m fine,” he gave. When Zoey looked unconvinced, he pressed on. “Really, I mean it. This changes nothing. No matter what, I’m finding my father, and he better give me the answers I’m looking for. If he or I can move things with our minds, well, so be it.”

Zoey opened her mouth, ready to tell him that it’s ok if he needs time to process this, and she’s here if he wants to talk or know anything more, but the words didn’t come. 

“We’re here,” he said, pulling into the lot. 

__________

Jacob was sprawled out across a bed too small for his long limbs. Sitting on the edge of the bed, her tailbone a milimeter away from touching his hips, Eleanor choked down a stale granola bar they’d picked up at a gas station along the way. 

Jacob watched the blades of the fan spin around, around, around. Miles watched Jacob watching the fan. 

“They should’ve been back by now?” MIles finally said. 

“Give them time,” Jacob murmured, his attention still very, very firmly fixed on the blades. “Ryoken said that place is out in the boondocks, remember?”

Miles nodded incredulously. “It felt stupid to split up. We’re stronger together.”

“They can take care of themselves,” Eleanor said, the last of the granola bar now replaced with crumbs in her hand. “And so can we.”

Miles looked over at the door. Jacob looked up, his beady black eyes scanning the door, making sure there was absolutely nothing of importance on the thin wooden rectangle. “Dude, you know staring at the door isn’t gonna make them come back faster, right?”

Miles shrugged. “How can you guys be so calm about this?”

“We’ve acknowledged that panicking will do us absolutely no good, and so we’ve elected to wait,” Eleanor answered. 

Jacob looked the smaller boy up and down. Miles was still very much a stranger, but Jacob was already conflicted about him. He was prone to anxiety and nervousness to a far greater degree than his peers, but he was also clever and could prove to lighten the mood with his sharp wit (when he wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack, of course). 

“Miles?” Jacob asked. The black-haired boy turned his attention to Jacob, nervously rubbing his hands. “You good, man?”

A mirthless laugh escaped Miles’ lips. “Are you serious, man? I’m never so much as jaywalked, and now I’m a wanted fugitive. Those bastards killed my uncle, and they think I did it! And now, you’re asking if I’m alright?”

Jacob sat up, holding a hand out, palm open. “Easy, man. We can’t have you freaking out on us. We need to find Mr. Fukunaga, and figure out what’s going on.”

“Don’t tell me to take it easy!” Miles shouted. “And you think I don’t know that? I want to find those guys more than anyone else. I--” he paused, choked with emotion. Anger and sadness and fear and grief all rolled into one colossal mess of negativity. “I want--no, I **need** \--to find the guys that did this to my uncle.”

“We know, Miles,” Eleanor told him, rising to her feet. She put a hand on his shoulder. “We’re gonna find the people who killed Nathan, who murdered Raio, who hurt my baby sister. And we’re gonna make them pay. Every. Single. One of them.”

Jacob made a mental note to never cross Eleanor. Ever. 

Eleanor turned back to Miles. “But for now, we need you to remain calm. Ryoken was smart; we need a new car to cover our trail.”

Miles scoffed. “Remain calm? How? How am I the only one freaking out here? Why am I the only normal person here?!”

“We don’t have time to be normal!” Eleanor shouted back. “If we freak out anytime the group separates, we’ll never get anything done. We need to toughen this out. **That’s** how we find Nadia.”

Jacob squinted at Eleanor. “...And avenge Miles’ uncle, right?”

Eleanor blinked. “Oh, yes. That too,” she answered, a bit too robotically. 

Jacob shook his head in disbelief. “Anyways, you’re not the only one freaking out, Miles. My little sister, Escher, and my older brother, Duran. They were with me that night.”

“But you didn’t see their name on the Missing Persons list, right?” Miles asked. “Or the list of casualties?”

Jacob clicked his tongue. “Yeah, but even if they’re alive, they might be hurt. Those numbers only showed people that were confirmed as dying that night. What about everyone who was charmed, or cursed by those Mages, and died hours later? Or the wounded, who died in surgery the next day?”

Images flashed through Jacob’s mind. His parents, buried under rubble and fire, the life gone from their eyes. Escher, bleeding out from a gunshot, having seen what no girl should see. Duran, struggling against one of the assailants, and getting a bullet to the brain or a Rune to the face. 

“At least you know your brother is safe,” Jacob grumbled. 

Miles bobbed his head. “It was hard, I’m not gonna lie. I don’t envy you two--not knowing how hurt your siblings are, or if they’re fine at all--but seeing my ma and Matt freaking out, and not being able to say anything or tell them I was okay.”

Miles wiped some moisture from his eye. “It sucks.”

Eleanor put her fist in her hand, cracking her knuckles. “The sooner we find those fuckers that took Nadia, the sooner we can clear our names and get you back home. Both of you.”

Jacob cocked his head to the side. “What about you?” he asked. 

Confusion was palpable on Eleanor’s face. “What?”

“What about you? You told me on the way up you lived in the Tower, right? Where are you going once we find Nadia?”

Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t care. For me, Nadia is my home.”

Zoey flashed into Jacob’s mind. He nodded in understanding, solidarity. “I know how that feels,” he responded.


	22. Chapter 20.5: Zoey and Ryoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally get a change of wheels

As Ryoken parked the car, Zoey scanned the area. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Ryoken, per say, but she wasn’t 100% sure it was a good idea to trust the people he affiliated with. Compared to the other Trailblazers their age, Ryoken didn’t exactly have a squeaky-clean track record, and he wasn’t known for hanging out the best and brightest of LA. Nevertheless, Zoey kept her mouth shut. A new car meant less cops on their tail, less close calls, less danger. 

The shop was fairly small. Dim fluorescent lights flowed out an open garage door into the warm night. Zoey could see people working, the sound of metal on metal ever-so-faint. “How did you know this guy again?” Zoey asked. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he told her. “Ban’s a bit rough around the edges, but he’s a good guy.” He shot one look back at his own car, a frown on his lips. “Bullet holes aside, I’m sure he’d like to salvage this for parts.”

“That’s...comforting, I guess.”

Ryoken looked left, right. He brushed a strand of black hair out of his face. “Here, let’s sneak in through the back. Ban won’t snitch, but I don’t know his crew super well.”

Zoey nodded. All she could do was pray for a quick, clean trade. 

____________

The trade was not, in fact, quick and clean. 

Once Ryoken was done propping open the window, he motioned for Zoey to come through. Rolling her eyes at the absurdity of it all, she got down on her knees and crawled through the opening. She fell a short distance into a pitch-black room, but with her impact she heard the sound of metal scraping and papers rushing. _I’m probably in some kind of office_ , she thought. Slowly but surely, Zoey felt around the floor with her feet, making sure she didn’t step on or kick anything. 

Ryoken came down next, and she grabbed onto his hand as he came down for balance. She released her grip quickly, still unable to see anything. Even with the little bit of moonlight pouring in from the open window, the room was still seeped in shadow. 

That didn’t last long. The door burst open, spilling fluorescent light into the room. A man--shirtless, lanky, covered in scars and with curly, dirty brown hair--came rushing in, a shotgun drawn. “Who’s there! Show yourself!”

Ryoken raised his hands. “It’s me, Ban.”

The scrawny man kept the gun raised. From this angle, Zoey could see individual ribs visible out on his chest. “Who’s the girl?” 

“She’s--” Ryoken began. “My name is Zoey,” she cut him off. 

“You got a last name, Miss Zoey?” Ban asked. 

“Nope.” 

Ban smirked. “Got your secrets. I can respect that.” 

Ban wasn’t exactly the biggest guy, but he was tall, the room was dark, and the doorway was narrow. Zoey couldn’t see anything behind him, but she heard another voice from the shop, female, strained. “Ban, who’s that?”

“Nobody, Mauve,” Ban said. He turned slightly to face the woman, and Zoey saw a flash of a tall mechanic, probably about 6’ or 6’2”, with short red hair in a messy bun. The woman turned her head, meeting Zoey’s eye for a heartbeat, before turning back around and leaving. 

Ban put the gun down and set it aside, turning back to Ryoken. He maintained eye contact as he held his arms out, motioning for the teen to hug him. “Get the hell over here, Ryo! How ya been?”

“I’m not hugging you,” Ryoken said, arms crossed. “And not just because you’re covered in grease.”

“Well, I’m sorry I actually work for a living,” Ban said, flashing a toothy grin. “Don’t be all prissy with me.”

“You pointed a shotgun in my face,” Ryoken replied. 

“You snuck in through my window! I mean, Jesus, Ryoken, what the hell were you thinking, you know I’m a jumpy guy.” 

Ryoken grunted. “Also,” Ban continued, “what the hell were you thinking bombing that place?”

“We didn’t **fucking** do that!” Zoey shouted, before covering her mouth. “Um, I mean. That wasn’t us,” she said quieter. 

“That’s why we’re here,” Ryoken said. “We were framed. Redguards are on our asses, and we need to get far, far away from here.”

“Hey, I don’t give a shit whether you did it or not,” Ban said. “Those rich bastards had it coming to them.”

“My family almost died,” Zoey said bitterly. Ban shrugged. 

“Plenty of people die everyday. Your family’s lucky, all things considered. Seeing as your family was there, I figure you’re one of those blue bloods, eh? Those Trailblazers?” Zoey blushed, wishing she could disappear back into the shadows of the room. “Trailblazer” was a name she never really liked, not for her, not for her siblings, not for any of the kids at the Tower. They didn’t blaze any trails, their parents did. They were just along for the ride. 

“But hey, business is business, right?” Ban said. “Though, I will say, you getting framed makes more sense than the official story,” he told them. “For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine what the motive was.”

Ryoken rolled his eyes. “Regardless, we need a car.”

“That shit don’t come cheap, Ryo. You think I just give away cars to whoever comes crashing through my window?”

“How often has that happened?” Zoey asked. 

“More than once,” Ban said, scratching his chin. “And that’s too many.”

“Look, I’m pretty liquid,” Ryoken said. “My account’s aren’t frozen.”

“Yet.” Ban’s voice dripped with venomous caution. “You’re a fool if you think it’ll stay that way.”

“Take my car,” Ryoken said. “Sell it for parts. Scrap it. Refurbish it. I don’t care.”

“Ryo…” Ban began. 

“Whatever it is, I just need some wheels.” Ryoken closed his fist. “I’ll owe you a favor once this is all done.”

“Done? This is never gonna be done. You’re a wanted now. They’ll never stop coming after you.”

“You’re wrong,” Zoey said. “We’re gonna clear our names.”

Ban gave a dry laugh. “And how’re you doing that?”

“By finding the people who set us up,” Zoey said. “And bringing them to justice.”

Ban looked to Ryoken. “I like her.”

“Shut up,” was Ryoken’s reply. “Can you get us a new set of wheels or what?”

Ban rubbed his head. “Fine. I got a junker I was working on. Gimme your shit, I’ll scrap it, and you take that. But you owe me, for scaring the spirit out of me if nothing else.”

“Thanks, Ban,” Ryoken said with a microscopic nod of the head. “I ‘preciate it. Really.”

“Don’t mention it. Just be safe, you two, alright?”

Ban turned around and started to walk out of the room, grabbing the shotgun with him. He motioned for the two teenagers to follow him with his other hand. 

“So, Ban, how long have you been doing this?” Zoey asked. The halls were an ugly sight; the fluorescent lights crackled and snapped, the ceiling was falling apart, and the beige wallpaper was peeling, revealing cracked and chapped walls. The sounds of metal crunching, spinning and cutting was much louder, and occasionally, Zoey would hear a crash from one of the adjacent garages, followed by a string of colorful, sometimes incomprehensible curses from one of Ban’s fellow mechanics. 

“Working this shop?” Ban asked. “I don’t know. A while. Say, you two want a bike? I got one in the shop, and it might be a bit easier to hide with that thing if it’s just the two of you.”

Ryoken looked to Zoey. “We really need a car, Ban. It’s not just the two of us.”

“Don’t tell me it’s all five of you,” Ban said. He remembered the electronic wanted poster: Ryoken, Zoey, the blonde girl, the tall guy with the mean face, and the short-looking kid. “The hell kind of crowd have you fallen into?”

“Hey, I didn’t fall into shit!” Ryoken said, a bit flustered, more than a bit frustrated. “This isn’t us. It was the Golden Rebellion.”

“Couldn’t have been them alone,” Ban said. 

“We know. They must’ve had an inside source,” Ryoken said, rubbing his chin. It could’ve easily been one of the Trailblazers; in fact, that was most likely. But the families themselves have been at war for ages, ever since the One Year War. Could it have been an entire clan? The Keseckers? The Gervins?

 _Only father knows_. 

____________

Once Ryoken saw the car, his face fell. “Look, I know you said it’s a junker…” he began. 

“Hey, beggars can’t be choosers,” Ban retorted. The two exchanged keys, Ban admiring the weight of Ryoken’s set in his hand. “I promise, it’s like a TARDIS.”

“Bigger on the inside?” Zoey asked. 

“Filthier on the inside,” Ban corrected. 

Zoey nodded. “I think it’s perfect,” she said cheerfully to Ryoken. “Nobody’ll recognize us. The next day or so of driving is a bunch of tiny towns; I doubt they’ve even heard the news. If we play our cards right, we’ll be out of the spotlight in no time.”

“I admire your optimism, little lady,” Ban said. Zoey expected a “but,” and it never came. 

“Your crew okay with you giving this away?” Ryoken asked. 

“Oh, sure. I bet they’re just itching to take apart your baby,” Ban said, and he laughed at the visible pain on Ryoken’s face. 

As Zoey walked to the car, Ban grabbed Ryoken by the arm, pulling him aside for a quick word. They spoke in hushed voices, making sure to not be heard. 

“Is she…you know?” Ban asked. 

Ryoken sighed. “My fiancé? The word isn’t cursed, Ban. You can say it.”

“I wouldn’t have known that, considering how you dance around this topic like a ballerina.” Ban and Ryoken had spoken about his arrangement with the Lovrins in the past, but the mechanic never would’ve guessed that he’d actually **meet** the girl, especially considering Ryoken's grimace every time the engagement was mentioned. “What kind of shit did you two get into?” Ban asked. 

“I...I don’t know,” Ryoken admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. “You heard about Raio, I take it?”

Ban nodded solemnly. “I’m holding out hope but, well, I don’t know if it’s happening.”

Ryoken’s face tried to express a half-dozen different emotions at once, and it failed at all of them. “He told me that father might have some answers. That’s where we’re heading now?”

“Your old man?” Ban asked. He scoffed. “That’s a ways away.”

“I know.”

Ban nodded. He held out his arms again, and this time, Ryoken (reluctantly) accepted the hug. Ban patted his friend twice on the back, hard. “Take care of yourself, kid.”

“Same to you. If anyone asks, I was never here.”

Ban pulled away, that toothy grin of his a final goodbye. He rubbed Ryoken’s head a pit, ruffling the young man’s hair, before walking past him and back to the shop. 

____________

Yeah, the car was kinda shit, but it would do. 

The whole drive away, the engine made gasping and sputtering noises, like a swimmer coming up for air. Zoey eyed it the first couple times, making some comment to the effect of “Hope that doesn’t last,” and when it looked like the noises would in fact last, she just tried to tune them out. 

They drove in dark silence at first, but once Ban’s garage was all but gone in the rearview mirror, Ryoken spoke. “Thank you, Lovrin. It was good having you here.”

Zoey nodded. “Yeah, sure. We’re all trapped in this mess together. We might as well help each other, yeah?” Ryoken nodded, the closest thing to a “yeah” Zoey would get. 

“It was weird, talking with you,” she blurted out. 

“About what?” The night consumed them on all sides, their flickering, cracked headlights the only source of light in the world. 

“All that stuff,” Zoey said. _Real descriptive, Lovrin_ , she thought. “About those days together as kids. In San Diego. My mom. My dad. I, uh, don’t really talk about it all that often.” Ryoken opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it. “Man, I haven’t thought about those days in San Diego in so long,” she wistfully said. 

He shot her a quick glance, before returning his eyes to the road. Their destination was less than 5 minutes away now. “You guys moved when we were in 4th grade, right?” 

She nodded. “You were always such a happy kid, Ryo.”

He shot her a look that bordered on offended. “You and I remember those years very differently.”

She laughed, knowing full well it wasn’t a joke. “I’m being serious. You smiled a lot. You laughed a lot.” Ryoken said nothing. Any resistance or excuse he’d put up would be paper-thin. She’d see through him in an instant. No more lies. 

“What happened to you, Ryo?” 

His grip around the steering wheel tightened. Was it wrong to envy your own past-self? Ryoken swallowed. He felt a sadness he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. A sadness he almost forgot existed. The kind that consumed every waking thought, like the shadows around them. The kind that colored your past and filtered your future, but only if you let it.

“I grew up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK It's been like three months since I posted a chapter, but it is GOOD TO BE BACK!


	23. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor sees a familiar face

After a somewhat restless night of sleep on the motel floor, Eleanor awoke just as the sun started to rise. Like a dog herding sheep, she woke her exhausted and annoyed peers and led them through the basic morning routines: shower, get dressed, clean up, leave no trace. Somehow, despite the complaining and threats to mutiny, she managed to get them out on the road by daybreak. 

Miles looked at the beat-up 2029 Honda in place of Ryoken’s car from the night before. He looked up at Ryoken, who was currently mid-yawn and rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Hey, seeing it's not your car, can I drive?”

Ryoken stopped mid-yawn. Miles watched, in what felt like slow motion, all five stages of grief cross Ryoken’s face in quick succession, ending on ‘Acceptance’ as he tossed Miles the keys.  As Zoey, Eleanor and Ryoken piled in the back, and Jacob slid into the passenger’s seat, Miles took the driver’s seat. He eagerly gripped the steering wheel, a grin on his face. He practically glowed with pure, childlike enthusiasm. “Hey, this is awesome!” he said. “I’ve never driven before!”

Those eight words were all it took. Within the minute (and after a lot of shouting) Miles had been successfully booted to the back of the car, and Jacob--who had, in fact, driven prior to this moment--now operated their means of transportation. 

After an hour, they had to stop to get gas. Ban’s junker was many things, but fuel-efficient was none of them, a fact compounded by Zoey and Ryoken’s trip in this car the night prior. Jacob began to miss Ryoken’s old car. 

The gas station they stopped at was tiny, just outside the town of Veritas. Veritas had once been a mining town, and it’s modest population exploded once it came out that some of their metals (silver, copper, etc.) conducted alchemical energies particularly well. Being that this was in one of the more anti-magic parts of the country, a group of Oracles arrived practically almost immediately, and all the mines just happened to dry up the next day. Now it had more in common with a ghost town. 

As Jacob filled the car with gas, he chatted idly with Zoey and Miles. Ryoken leaned against the car, eyes closed and head spinning. Eleanor looked at her companions, and decided to stretch her legs. 

She walked around. The Independent Republic of California was one of the many states that spun out of the larger US following the One Year War. The state’s outer ring was a shell of it’s pre-war self; most of the landscape had been reduced to dust and desert by various magical and psychic attacks. Veritas was no exception. As Eleanor walked, she saw bits of rock and concrete jetting out of the ground, no doubt an indication that she was standing on where a building once was. 

A fierce wind blown sand in Eleanor’s direction, and she held out a hand to cover some of the stray grains. She had to resist the urge to get lost in thought. The days were beginning to blur together, ever since That Night at the Tower of Hope. Nadia occupied most of her thoughts, but others still creeped in. Thoughts of her father. Of her mother. 

But also thoughts of her companions. Of Ryoken, and what Zoey said about him being an Oracle. Of Jacob, who understood her pain better than she thought. Of Miles, who missed his family. 

Eleanor made a fist.  _ Well, with no one around, at least I can practice magic _ . 

Magic required a certain emotional state; that was why Nadia could so easily interrupt her back at the Tower. It was strange. Even though the required state of mind was fragile as glass, Eleanor seemed more capable of casting spells during a crisis. She recalled the night of her mother, how the mana practically flowed out of her. Or when the Golden Rebellion attacked; even Eleanor, a rusty, out-of-practice Mage, ended up firing more spells than she thought.  _ It’s probably the adrenaline _ , Eleanor realized.  _ It clears my mind. I feel more powerful during a battle _ . 

Her mind flashed back to the tomes her mother would bring home. Nadia never had the same affinity for Runic Magic that Eleanor had, and she never had much use for them. (But their mother would sense mana in Nadia from a young age. Eleanor always suspected her sister’s specialties lied elsewhere, like in Enchantment or Materia Magic.)

In the tomes, one of them was the spell for Electrify.  _ Could I still do that now?  _ Compared to the relatively light-mana Snipe and Air Cannon (both in the C-Tier), Electrify was a B-Tier spell. Pathetic as it sounded, Eleanor wasn’t entirely used to some of those higher-Tier spells, but she could manage. 

She couldn’t use Assimilate Radius. That was a technique her mother taught her at a young age. It wasn’t a spell, per say, but it gathered mana for spells. Mana was the fuel for most forms of magic, and it was in all living things, but most people had such an insignificant amount of mana that they couldn’t cast any spells, even the most basic F-Tier Runic spells.  As mana was found in living things, that meant it was in nature, all around us. But most people couldn’t just  **take** it. That was where Assimilate Radius came in; it created a circle around the user, and any mana that fell into that area was within their use. ( _ Even people _ , Eleanor thought with a shudder.) 

Rivers, the sky, the air, the animals, the grass, the trees, it was all mana. But as Eleanor looked around, she saw no flora, no fauna. The air here was barren, dry; the skies devoid of clouds or energies. The mana had probably been drained from this area during the War. She’d have to rely on her own mana reserves. 

Eleanor put her hands together.  _ How did the symbols go again?  _ She remembered the woman at the Tower who nearly electrocuted her and Miles; Eleanor closed her eyes, trying to see those gestures in her mind’s eye. She put her pointer fingers together, then her middle fingers, before tucking her left thumb in the space between her extended middle finger and her ring finger. Finally, she held out her left palm, chanting “Konduciv Beckon Tonitura.”

The Rune came to life in her hand, a glowing circle within a diamond shape. Electrify’s Rune was blue or yellow, depending on the user; Eleanor’s was both. Eleanor felt the mana drain out of her instantly, but it was worth it. She smiled, satisfied.  _ I’m rusty, but I still got it _ . 

See, magic wasn’t some almighty practice. If that was the case, the Mages’ eternal war with Oracles and Unknown would’ve ended eons ago. Magic is actually quite a lot like the psychic abilities of an Oracle, or the secret powers of an Unknown. 

...okay, not really, but there’s an argument to be made there. Probably. 

Runic Magic was the most common form of magic, the First Branch, but it was still a complicated manner. Mages had to research a spell thoroughly before they could even cast it, and it had to be clear in mind as they cast it. Compared to Thaumaturgy, Magic’s Third Branch, the spell pool was quite limited, about forty or so spells in all. Each spell needed a hand gesture and a certain amount of mana (arranged from F to A-Tiers), and almost all needed a verbal incantation, too. 

_ If Nadia was here, she’d be so mad _ , Eleanor thought, and despite the absurdity of it all, she afforded a smile. 

A chill went down her spine, the feeling of being watched. Eleanor turned around. There was nobody behind her. Well, no humans. A raven was perched atop one of the nearby rocks. It cawed twice, before turning back to Eleanor. She almost missed it in the blinding California sun, but it’s eyes were an unnatural, icy blue. 

It stared at her for one second, two, five. Something about it’s body seemed wrong. It’s beak was a bit too long, it’s neck a bit too short. Those eyes were simply  _ wrong _ , looking almost serpentine. Eleanor scowled.  _ I know what this is _ . 

“Claus!” she shouted. 

Indigo energy rolled off the bird in waves, creating a mana-born mist, which in turn coalesced into a sort of portal. Not a portal in the literal sense--even with what little Eleanor knew about familiars, she knew she couldn’t just walk through that and end up somewhere else. No, it was more of a communication portal. 

“Haley.” The voice on the other end was audible before the image of Claus appeared. He was unmistakably the  **last** person Eleanor wanted to see right now. 

Certain practitioners of the supernatural--Summoners--could call forth Devas, known to the masses as “familiars,” but it was a rare art. The pureblood Oberins, unfortunately, were masters of this art. Devas were great for scouting, but it took a lot of effort to maintain more than one, or to use them for these sorts of messages. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eleanor demanded, hands clenched into fists. She knew her half-brother was a Summoner; hell, it was common knowledge among Trailblazers that almost all the Oberins could Summon. But she had no idea he could use his like this. 

“Me? You’re the one who destroyed our home,” Claus accused. His blonde hair was messy, sticking up in all ends, as if he just rolled out of bed. It took a bit of attention away from the paleness of his cheeks, the thick bags under his eyes. He wore a garish purple coat with yellow wrist-cuffs, a high collar, and silver ornaments decorating the shoulders. It hurt Eleanor’s eyes to look at the gaudy outfit. 

“We both know that’s not true,” Eleanor began. 

“My father is  **furious** , and he’s blaming me,” Claus explained. “You disobeyed a direct order. You were to never leave that room.”

“You expected to keep me locked away like a prisoner for, what? Ever?” 

“I  **expected** you to do as you’re told, little girl.” He sighed, putting his face in his hands. “Father was a fool to treat you as his kin,” Claus mumbled. Looking back at her, his voice regained its usual gravity. “You will return--”

“What about Nadia?! How about, instead of sending birds after me, you find out what the fuck happened to her?!”

“--You will  **return** to the Tower at once, and you will end this madness.”

Eleanor scowled, nostrils flared, eyes burning with anger. She looked down at the Rune, still crackling in her hand, and then at Claus. He realized what was happening a moment too late.  The transmission ended right before he started a string of curses. The bird took off, flying away much faster than a normal raven ever could, but Claus made the mistake of sneaking up on Eleanor while she was practicing magic. With the Electrify Rune already ready, she simply aimed and electrocuted the small bird while it was in mid-flight. 

It exploded in a shockwave of blue energy. The energy wasn’t mana, but something else entirely. Something from the Residuum. 

Zoey, Miles and Ryoken came rushing forth. “Eleanor!” Miles called, sweating under the sun. “What the hell was that?”

“What’d you do?” Ryoken asked, arms crossed. 

Eleanor glared at Ryoken, before turning to Zoey and Miles. “A Deva.”

Zoey blinked. “A what?”

“A familiar,” Eleanor explained. “A magical spirit, from the Far Residuum. Mages can summon them.”

“Can you do that?” Miles immediately asked, the barest hint of a smile on his face at the mere prospect of Eleanor summoning animals. 

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “...no. But I know my br--I mean, I know the Oberins can. I’ve seen Claus Oberin use a raven before.” 

She weighed her options. Summoners usually have one or two Devas, but some of the most skilled can have up to three. Yet she’d never seen Claus with more than just one. Either way, things seemed messy. If he just had the one, he was sure to be furious (well, more than usual) that his only Deva was destroyed. If he had more than one, then that just meant there were more familiars to follow them. 

Jacob came running over, wiping sweat from his brow. “Haley? Did you just shoot a bird?"

Eleanor stuttered. "I-I'll explain later." To all four of them, she said, “The Oberins are on our asses. We need to go. Now.”


	24. Interim: Claus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claus' reaction, immediately after Eleanor killed his familiar.

Claus slammed his hand on the table. “ **Fuck!** ” He saw red. How  **dare** that girl shoot his Deva? Did she have no sense at all?!

He was in one of the many offices at the Oberin Estate, a four-story mansion that had been constructed by Oracles during the mid-1940s. It’s wood was old, it’s walls and carpets home to many generations of Oberins. Countless fights had ensued in this manor, countless spells cast and familiars summoned. The Estate seemed to have a life of its own, every word echoing down dark hallways and cold corridors. 

Claus’ study was a messy space, a consequence of his rushed move back home with his siblings. The skies were gray and the curtains were pulled back, leaving the room in darkness. Notebooks filled with spells, textbooks from school, research notes, half-drunken potions, rubies and sapphires partially imbued with mana, snapped pencils, inkless pens and a partially-opened laptop littered the room. Claus threw his arms on the dark pine desk and swept most of this clutter off in his anger. A potion smashed against the wall, decorating the wall with a bubbling green liquid and bits of glass; the gemstones bounced off the hardwood floor, rolling under chairs and tables. 

Claus put a hand on his head, ripping out strands of hair.  _ I’m going to fucking kill her _ . With his unshaved face and bloodshot eyes, he looked even more menacing than the last (and only) time Eleanor met him. 

The door behind him was knocked open, revealing his sister. Farrah Oberin had the same emerald eyes as her brother, but with none of the piercing intensity. At twenty-four, she was three years his junior, though arguably his superior in cunning. 

Farrah was the same height as her brother, but stood even taller in her five-inch heels. Her gaze was cool as ice, her smile weary. She chewed on her lip, black lipstick smudging against her front teeth. Her natural hair was a much darker blonde than her brother’s, but she’d dyed it some months ago; initially sky blue, the dye was beginning to fade, giving her locks the color of a nimbus cloud. 

“The hell are you doing in here?” she asked. 

Without looking her way, Claus breathed, “Leave me be.”

“It’s dangerous to throw around half-charged pieces of mana, brother.” 

“I said: leave me be.” He had no patience left, not for this. 

Farrah reached over, gently putting a hand on Claus’ shoulder. The second her fingertips touched the fabric of his coat, he flipped around, grabbing her wrist and holding tight enough to leave marks. “This does not concern you, sister.”

She slapped Claus’ hand away. “Of course it does.” Her words were as cold as her gaze. “Anything to do with Eleanor affects all of us. You know that.”

Just then, the door was gently opened once more. This time, Augustina emerged. She was a tiny, thin woman pushing seventy, with deep wrinkles and a wide smile covering her face. A loyal servant of the Oberin family since Charles was an infant, she’d practically raised Farrah, Claus, Warren and Rowena, and watched as they grew into the people they were today. 

“Master Claus?” Her voice was weary with age and shaking with fear, though she attempted to mask both. “I heard a crash in here. May I--”

“Get the  **fuck out** !” Claus threw one of the gemstones at Augustina, who quickly exited, closing the door behind her. The hunk of amethyst bounced off the door handle, and Farrah caught it in her open hand. The second it touched her skin, she felt the faintest traces of mana in it. Compared to his siblings (and half-sister), Claus had always excelled in the charging of gemstones and the creation of Materia, the Second Branch of the magical arts. Though, as one might expect, his focus had been shot to hell as of late, which naturally affected his craft. 

“You’re acting like a child,” Farrah mildly said. She gently set the amethyst against the now-empty desk, next to Claus’ closed hand. 

“And you aren't taking this seriously.” At once, the red-hot fury was gone from Claus’ voice, replaced with a colder, tranquil anger. “We were quick, but they were quicker. If this come out--”

“ **Don’t** tell me what the consequences are,” Farrah said sternly. “We already know all about that.”

“And don’t interrupt me,” Claus retorted. 

The two sighed. A laugh filled Farrah’s ears, before she realized it was coming from her. “I can’t even believe this,” she said. Her smile was wide, and filled with nothing but dread. “I can’t believe father’s done this to us.”

Ah, the unifying component in all hostile sibling relationships: complaining about the parents. 

“He should’ve eliminated her while we had the chance,” Claus said. 

Silently, Farrah dwelled on that idea, a million ideas flashing through her mind of how Eleanor could have been eliminated alongside their mother. Externally, she simply voiced, “No use dwelling on the past.”

“She destroyed my Summon,” Claus said. “She’s going to pay.”

“She will.” Farrah and Claus walked a fine line between the intense desire to murder, scold, and aid one-another over their family’s many predicaments. “What else did he see?”

Claus closed his eyes, trying to bring the memories back to the forefront of his brain. “She was with a few others. That Lovrin girl, and her fiance.” He shook his head. “Some no-name Normal.”

“Anyone else?”

Claus shot her a venomous look. “It doesn’t concern you, sister.”

Farrah rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Of course it does. You might be father’s golden boy, but if they find out about our sis--”

“She is  **not** our sister,” Claus spat. “She is a low-life Normal, who shares nothing in common with us. She’s an obstacle for us to overcome, a task for us to eliminate and cross off.”

“Normal?” Farrah said the word slowly, as if teaching her grown brother what it meant. Gesturing with her hands, she mumbled, “She certainly didn’t seem like a mundane, now did she?” 

The sight of Eleanor with the Electrify Rune was burned into Claus’ brain. He slammed his fist into the table once more, splitting the skin on his knuckles and drawing blood. “We will bury her, and find her kin, and bury her too,” he said. 

Farrah exhaled. “It sounds like she’s with the other attackers. They never found that Micolta boy, but his siblings say he disappeared with the Lovrin girl.” She was thinking aloud, trying to organize her thoughts as they left her mouth. “If they’re together, Micolta’s probably with them, or not far behind.” Farrah paled. 

“We need to find them, now,” Claus said. “Before the Micoltas get to them.”

Farrah leaned against the wall. “What do we do?”

“We?” Claus asked. “I told you, this is my problem.”

“Enough of this!” Farrah shouted. “She’s all of our--”

“It’s not that!” Claus interrupted. “I was the one who met with her. Father appointed me to deal with her, and now I’m dealing with her.”

_ Well, your definition of dealing with her is most certainly not what father had in mind _ , Farrah thought. She sneered. “Your stupid pride. It will be the death of you.”

Claus scowled. “I do not need your presence.”

Farrah briefly considered hexing Claus in the chest, or backhanding his square jaw, but she simply gave a strained smile. “When this blows up, don’t come to me.”

“Never intended to.” Claus considered adding  _ And don’t tell father _ , before deciding that it went without saying. Charles Oberin knew little of his children or the worlds they inhabited. Claus couldn’t even remember the last time they spoke for more than sixty seconds since, well...since they found out about Eleanor and Nadia. There was no reason to tell him, and even if there was, it’d make Claus look rather childish. 

Claus gritted his pearly-white teeth.  _ This time, I’ll go for a more direct approach _ . 


	25. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor puts all her cards on the table

Twilight came with a light breeze, and dusk not long after. They all took turns driving, giving everyone a chance to sleep. Pretty soon, an entire day had gone by in a blur, then another, then another. The city once known as Blythe was all but gone, as deprived of life as it was mana and water. 

Between the bumpy roads covered in sand and gravel, the busted air conditioning, the limited leg room and the groaning noises the engine kept making, it wasn’t exactly the most pleasant trip. With their phones gone and an increasing need to stay on the backroads and out of public sight, there was nothing to do but talk and dream. 

Sleep was Eleanor’s only escape from this boring hell, and despite insisting every day that she wasn’t tired, Jacob and Ryoken got used to her slipping into a deep sleep and falling asleep on their shoulder. Usually she was drooling. Jacob never seemed to mind. Ryoken most certainly did mind. 

They had been traveling together for six days, and it’d been nearly a week since the Tower had fallen. Since Nadia had been taken, since Nathan and Raio were killed. They drove through the day and into the night. The Oberins were on everyone’s mind tonight. Fear coursed through Eleanor’s veins, the fear that there might be someone on their tail at any given moment. 

The others were just as jumpy as her. Miles and Zoey seemed particularly shaken. He sat in the back with Ryoken and Jacob, squished between the window and the latter’s thick arms. Zoey was driving, her eyes darting across every turn of the road, like prey on the lookout for predators. 

Eleanor sat in the passenger’s seat this time. Another spell came to her in a flash, a long-forgotten memory from her mother. An idea. 

Eleanor closed her eyes. She could still hear Anna’s voice, warm and tired and kind. Thinking of her filled Eleanor with a pain that she knew would never quite go away, no matter how much she wanted it to. She went down that trail of thought a bit longer.  _ Nadia looks so much like her.  _

The brief thought made Eleanor shake her head.  _ Don’t dwell on it, we’ll get her soon _ , she thought. She used all of these feelings to power the spell: her sadness, her fear, her longing, her anger. The adrenaline became her fuel, the mana at her fingertips the lighter. She put her hands together and then separated them, moving each individual finger in the outline of a circle. 

Zoey took her eyes off the road, giving a quick glance to Eleanor. “What’re you doing?”

“A spell,” she said, and did not elaborate more on the manner, much to Zoey’s chagrin. 

Radar was a C-Tier spell, and unlike many of Eleanor’s other Runes, it wasn’t offensive in any way. It was developed during the Crusades, as a way for Mages to keep track of their allies, but it’s usefulness has made it endure for centuries since. 

Eleanor thought the stereotype of Mages as a chaotic group, whose thoughts were almost as disarrayed as their spells, and it was enough to make her laugh. That’d been nothing more than propaganda that emerged from Oracles following the War. Mages like structure and order above all things, and their spells were no exception. Runes were sorted into a few basic groups, like close-ranged offense, long-ranged offense, mobility and defense; but a handful just simply didn’t fit into any of these. Radar was one of them. 

With a twist of her wrist, she uttered, “Inimici Mei.”

The words came to her head without a second thought, and the gray rune sprung to life. It wasn’t exactly the most costly spell, in terms of magical energy, but it was quite complex and it needed Eleanor to maintain it for several seconds. Certain spells could be “charged” in their Rune for a few seconds, as Eleanor proved with keeping Electrify ready to fire at Claus’ familiar, but Radar took effect the second Eleanor willed it into being.

The shape was also quite different from the other Runes. This wasn’t like the yellow squares of Electrify or the white circles of Air Cannon. Radar created a sort of three-dimensional space in Eleanor’s palms, representing any Runic Mages within a one-mile vicinity. With enough training, Eleanor had heard of some expert Mages who expanded this radius to two or three miles. 

She hadn’t practiced this one, not in a long, long time. Generally, she tried to stick with B-Tier spells like Armament or Gust to build up her mana reserves, and she was accustomed to a dull ache in her arms from energy usage after each one. Using high-tier spells was like sprinting; it used up a lot of energy for a short time. Something like Radar or Bind was different, more akin to a slow, leisurely jog; far less intensive, but with a much longer activation period. 

Miles peered over from the back seat, the light of the Rune reflected in his soft hazel eyes. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the night was filled with lush purple and streaks of black; Eleanor’s Rune lit up the car like a firecracker. “That’s so cool,” he half-whispered. In the rearview mirror, Eleanor saw Ryoken roll his eyes. 

“Thanks,” Eleanor replied without looking at Miles. “I learned this one from my mom.” With a chuckle, she recalled, “I always tried to run away from home as a kid, but I never got far.” 

Jacob and Zoey looked to one-another. Eleanor had never discussed her parents, or, really, anything about herself. 

“What are we looking at, Haley?” Ryoken asked. 

“This spell shows any Runic Mages within the mile.” When everyone else was obviously confused, she explained, “Runic Mages are ones like me, that cast spells with words and hand gestures. I’m pretty sure the Oberins are all Runic Mages.”

Zoey scrunched her face. “How the hell would you know that?”

Eleanor stuttered, gears turning in her head. “I’ll tell you later.” Ryoken frowned. He fell back in his seat and turned his head, ready to catch some sleep. 

“It looks like we’re all alone here,” Eleanor said. “No one’s around.” She looked back to Ryoken, whose eyes were shut and his breaths slow; and to Jacob, with his baggy half-closed eyes. “Zoey, pull over here,” she said, pointing to the side of the road. “Let’s try to get some sleep.”

Zoey looked a bit doubtful, but she obeyed the order. She gently steered the car off the granite road and into the dusty fields on the side. Each rotation of the worn wheels kicked up sand and ash and soot. 

Miles jumped out of the car and held his arms up in the air, stretching. His features were barely visible under the dim moonlight. “Jesus, I thought we’d never get out of that car.”

Jacob seemed surprisingly awake once he stepped out, but it wasn’t long before he let out a deep yawn, followed by a sneeze at all the dust in the air. “Where are we?” he asked. 

“Out of state,” Zoey mumbled, a relieved smile on her face. “We’re finally out of the California Republic.”

Ryoken nodded along. “Which means we’re in No Man’s Land now, yeah?”

Zoey’s smile wavered, then faded entirely. “Yeah,” she whispered. 

After the central United States government fell and smaller armies took apart the states one by one, No Man’s Land emerged. It was a desolate space, encompassing what was once New Mexico up to eastern Montana. Commonly known as a dwelling space for Unknowns, no singular group dared try to take it. Over the years, the Murros and Dunlows tried to back up military sieges to reclaim at least small parts of No Man’s Land, but none of them ever worked. Those campaigns were what partially led to the in-fighting at Los Angeles. 

Redguards didn’t have the jurisdiction to venture past these regional borders, so they weren’t going to be hunted down, at least not by law enforcement. The problem was, that also meant the Redguard wasn’t there to enforce anything. So any assassins or bounty hunters that the Micoltas, Lovrins, Fukunagas or Oberins sent their way were free to operate however they wished. This was the most dangerous stretch of the journey. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot about your father,” Eleanor said to Ryoken, as he cracked his neck. “What are we gonna do when we find him?”

“Make him talk,” Ryoken said mildly. He looked to his four companions. “Between Zoey’s powers, your magic, Micolta’s muscle, and Miles’...” he trailed off. “We can make him give us some answers.”

“You talk about torturing your dad like it’s a leisurely Tuesday activity,” Eleanor replied. 

“I never used the word ‘torture,’ never at all.” He slowed, and then stopped. “I prefer the term ‘gentle persuasion.’” Miles’ eyes went wide. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. 

Eleanor grumbled something to herself about Ryoken being an ass, and went off to set up camp. 

_____________________________________________________________________

Underneath the desert sky, Eleanor found herself staring at the stars. 

Options for dinner were limited, as evidenced by the audible growling of their stomachs. None of them had eaten anything in a while. Miles managed to find some kindling around their campsite, and Jacob used it and some flint and steel Ban left in the trunk of their car to get a fire going. Zoey looked at her boyfriend like he was an idiot for trying to get a fire going during the hot summer night, up until he caught a lizard and roasted it over the fire. At which point, she still looked at him like an idiot. 

“Seriously, Jacob?” she asked, voice hoarse and annoyed. “Have you no shame?”

“What?” he said. A stick was skewered through the gecko, and Jacob slowly turned it over the small fire. “Food is food.”

Zoey rolled her eyes. She activated her ability, and her left hand instantly lit up with blue lightning. She held her now-icy hand to her face, trying to cool herself off. 

The rest of the group elected to ignore Jacob’s meal. Miles and Zoey were about ready to sleep the second they parked their car, and they unrolled their sleeping bags. Eleanor nodded. “They have the right idea,” she said to Jacob and Ryoken. “Let’s try to get some sleep.”

Ryoken held a hand out. “Not so fast, Haley. You have some explaining to do.”

The words filled Eleanor with indignation. “What?” she flatly asked. 

Jacob, Zoey and Miles looked from Ryoken to Eleanor, as if they were children watching their parents argue. 

Ryoken’s voice was croaky and husky in the dry desert air. “Back there, you said something about the Oberins.” Not so much a question, more of a statement. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Eleanor considered saying ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ or ‘You must have misheard me,’ but it would’ve been useless. The jig was up. So, instead, she stayed silent. 

“Is that why you were at the Gala?” Miles asked. A brief moment of realization dawned on Jacob as he looked to the shorter boy. Together, Miles and Eleanor saved him, Zoey and Ryoken when their backs were to the wall at the Tower. At the time, he was so grateful for help he didn’t even question it. Now, it seemed strange. If Miles was the son of a security guard, who was she? She certainly wasn’t a Trailblazer.

“How much do you know about them?” Jacob asked. 

Eleanor sighed, putting her head in her hands. “It’s...a lot. It’s complicated.”

“Naturally,” Ryoken grumbled. “But we have time to kill. You a servant of there’s, or something?”

Eleanor shot him a look of equal parts revulsion and red-hot anger. “No! No, of course not.”

“What the hell are you?” Eleanor didn’t care much for the use of ‘what’ over ‘who,’ but she held her tongue on that one. “I...I…”

She trailed off, and bit her lip.  _ Fuck _ , she thought. Claus’ words echoed through her head:  _ If anyone finds out about you, believe me, there will be  _ **_severe_ ** _ consequences _ . 

Eleanor was torn. On the one hand, hadn’t everything already gone to hell? Wouldn’t now be the best time, and the best situation, to talk about her parentage? 

But the nobles weren’t exactly all friends, and Eleanor had little-to-no idea of the complicated politics between the families of the Tower. Were Jacob and Zoey scared about the Oberins because they would take them home, or because their families have a history with Charles? What would Ryoken think?

Eleanor looked to Miles. She was probably most afraid of his reaction. They hit it off at the Gala because, frankly, they were the only ones there who weren’t trust fund babies. Would he think of her differently if he knew who her father was? 

“The world already thinks we blew up a national monument and killed dozens of people,” Zoey said, speaking for the first time in this conversation. “Our  **families** .” She put emphasis on the word, and while Eleanor knew there was no way Zoey had caught on, she couldn’t help but feel like the word was a cruel reminder of the secret she carried in her chest. Judging by the half-yawn between her sentences, it wasn’t a stretch to say Zoey forced herself awake just to say this. 

“We need to trust each other if we can work together to clear our names,” Zoey said. “I-- **we** don’t know if we can trust you when you’re keeping stuff from us.”

Eleanor’s gaze turned red-hot, her fists trembling at her side. “Trust? I don’t know a single fucking thing about you people!” she shouted, her blood boiling. Turning to Ryoken, she said, “And I don’t need to know! We’re with each other because we have no other goddamn choice. This isn’t some kind of pep club.”

Ryoken growled at her, baring his teeth in anger. Eleanor exhaled deeply, and then added, “We’re not friends. None of you have told me anything. And I refuse to be the only one sharing secrets.”

A beat. Silence fell over Zoey, Jacob and Miles, their faces illuminated by the fire. Zoey looked guilty and shameful for trying to coax secrets out. Miles looked disappointed. Jacob just looked curious, perhaps even a bit confused. Ryoken’s expression was the most menacing, his eyes as fiery as the blaze in front of him.

“You’re right,” Ryoken said. “We don’t need to share secrets, and we aren’t friends. This is life or death. Hunt or be hunted. And from where I’m standing, the Oberins are gonna hunt us to the ends of the Earth because of something we didn’t even  **do** .” He pointed a finger at Eleanor. “Or, maybe they’re hunting us because of something you actually  **did** do. You might not like it, but whatever the fuck your secret is, it’s put us all in danger. So the least you can do is start talking.” 

“You owe us that much,” Miles said. Eleanor looked at him, and found nothing but pity and sadness as wide as the ocean. Eleanor shot him a glare, scolding him for hiding behind the other’s words and only piping up when it was convenient, but she knew that he was right. 

Eleanor sighed again.  _ I’ve been so stupid,  _ she realized.  _ I’ve let on too much. About spells, mana, Devas, magic in general. Of course they caught on that I have some kind of connection _ . She mentally face-palmed, and then, for good measure, physically face-palmed, too. 

“Fine. You want the fucking truth?” 

Eleanor sat down next to the fire, sand and dust covering her black sweatpants. Maybe it was the darkness surrounding them, the fire casting wild shadows behind her, or maybe it was the stars watching her from the sky, or the fear that no matter how many times she used Radar there was still a possibility that Claus was right behind them; but Eleanor felt impossibly, astronomically small. 

“I’m Charles Oberin’s daughter.” 

In spite of everything, Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh, a joyless sound. She’d never admitted that to anyone, not since she told Nadia all those months ago. She’d been so afraid to even think it, let alone say it, as if she’d burst into flames the second the words left her mouth. Yet here she was, unscathed. 

“My birth name isn’t Eleanor Haley,” she said. “It’s Eleanor Oberin.” 

Miles and Jacob had equally shocked reactions. Zoey didn’t seem all too surprised, though it could have just been her own suspicions that Eleanor was the daughter of someone important. There was also a fair chance that she was just so exhausted that any information, no matter how shocking, would elicit no reaction from her. Nonetheless, Zoey hummed in response. 

Ryoken stroked his chin. “Yeah, that’s not too surprising,” he said. 

Eleanor looked at him like he’d grown two more heads. “And what the hell does that mean?” she questioned sharply. 

“I was pretty surprised when I saw you casting those spells back at the Tower,” he explained. “Nevermind that I hadn’t seen a Mage cast spells before, it seemed weird that you weren’t from any of the families. But I’d heard before that mana ran in families, so I figured you were someone’s kid.” He shrugged. “Makes sense that you’re the top dog’s daughter.”

Miles wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brow. “Top dog?” he repeated. Turning to Eleanor, he asked, “I mean, I get the guy--uh, your old man, I guess--is rich and all, but how is he the top dog? And of what?”

“The seven families were the ones who built the Tower, but Charles has acted as chairman of the Tower for as long as anyone can remember,” Ryoken explained. “He was the only Mage who wanted peace during the War.”

That seemed a significant thing, Eleanor realized, as if all Mages were bloodthirsty monsters that couldn’t wait to sink their claws into Oracles and their fangs into Unknowns.  _ He might be right, for all I know.  _

Miles shook his head. “Am I the only one here who doesn’t come from some  **serious** money?”

Eleanor ignored the question. “Claus Oberin--”

“Your brother,” Jacob said. Eleanor closed her eyes, breathing slowly. 

“Yes,” she breathed, looking like she was about to pop a blood vessel. “My  **half** -brother,” Eleanor emphasized, “told me that if anyone were to find out, he’d make sure that my sister and I suffered for it.” She made a frustrated gesture with her hands. “So there. Fine. That’s my dirty little secret.”

“No, wait,” Ryoken said, holding up a finger and trying to ignore Eleanor’s audible groan. “I have one more thing.”

By now, even Zoey was giving Ryoken a pissed look, as if to say ‘Just leave the poor girl alone,’ but Jacob was hanging on his peer’s every word, eager to see if this question matched his own. 

“That night we all escaped from the Tower, we saw the HoloBoard.”

Eleanor thought back to that night. No, that specific minute in time. Her world came crashing down faster than she thought possible. 

“Is this about your brother?” Eleanor asked, annoyed. 

Ryoken scoffed. “No,” he said, quick to dismiss the discussion of his brother’s supposed passing. “This is about your sister.”

Eleanor’s gaze stiffened. She looked unaffected by the information at first, but in the firelight, Ryoken could make out the slight dilation of her eyes, the light tremor in her hands. “Nadia Perry was her name,” Ryoken said. “I take it that she’s one of Charles’ daughters as well?”

His sardonic, cutting tone made her want to jump across the fire--now nothing more than a pile of embers and ash--and wrap her hands around his throat, but with all the willpower she could muster, Eleanor remained still. “She’s my biological sister, yes. Charles is our father.”

“Is she a Mage?” Ryoken asked, and the whole world seemed to grind to a halt. 

Eleanor thought back to her argument with Nadia in the hotel, over magic, over how they could be found out any second of any day. “No,” Eleanor breathed. 

Ryoken nodded. “Why were you two in the Tower?” 

“Okay, enough questions, Ryo,” Jacob said, holding a hand out. He rose from his seat on the sand, the charred lizard long since gone, and walked to Ryoken. The older man shot him a dark look. 

“Don’t call me that,” he said, half-hearted annoyance in his words. Jacob folded his arms, unimpressed.

“We were in the Tower because of our father,” Eleanor said. “He offered to pay for the both of us to live there, in secret. That’s why none of you knew.” 

“So who were those people who took her?” This time, the question came from Miles, his tone gentler, more comforting. 

Eleanor shook her head, hot tears threatening to spill. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “But that’s why I want to find your old man,” she told Ryoken. “If he knows who attacked the Tower, he might know who took my baby sister.”

Ryoken considered telling Eleanor that this was a total hunch, and that there’s nothing to suggest the same group did both, but he resisted the urge. “Alright,” he grunted. 

Eleanor sighed. The first tear fell, and Zoey scooted over to her side to comfort her. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “She...she’s really sick, guys.”

“What is it?” Zoey empathetically asked. 

Eleanor sniffled. “Neurofibromatosis. She has tumors growing on her spine.” She rubbed her eyes. “She...well, she can’t walk. Not since she was ten.”

Ryoken looked to the side. “Jesus,” he whispered. 

Zoey put a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll get her back.”

With her free hand, Zoey activated her powers once more. The current through her body reignited, and her hands once again turned cold. The embers froze over instantly, leaving nothing but a pile of icy, charred wood. 

“Let’s get some shut-eye,” Ryoken said. “We’ll hit the road again at first light.” He looked down the road. “We should be coming up to a town I know.”

“You’ve been here?” Jacob asked, unconvinced. 

“Raio took me here a few years ago,” Ryoken said, and the twinge of sadness in his words was audible to all. 

Eleanor nodded. “Sleep sounds like a great idea.” 


	26. Chapter 23

Jacob couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned for a while, looking up at the stars. It was too hot to sleep, and his head was spinning. 

_ Eleanor was an Oberin, all this time?  _ he thought.  _ What else are they not telling us?  _ _ What else do I not know?  _

Deciding it was pointless to torment himself with questions that he lacked the answers to, Jacob sat up in his sleeping back. Ryoken was asleep to his right, and Zoey fell asleep in the sleeping back to his left, cuddled against Jacob. He rose slowly, careful not to wake her. 

Jacob slipped on his boots and began walking around. He saw no signs of Eleanor, nor of Miles. He briefly considered searching for them, but decided it was a waste of time.  _ They can take care of themselves, right?  _

His mind turned to Nadia. From the way Eleanor described her, she sounded like a good kid. Sweet, good-natured. It made Jacob think of Escher, which made him think of Duran.  _ I hope they’re doing alright _ . 

His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, and far away from the frozen embers of their campfire, he caught a glimpse of Miles. The young man was huddled up in a tight ball, gazing out at the dry, desolate expanse beyond. No Man’s Land. 

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Jacob asked. 

Miles turned around, meeting Jacob’s gaze. “No,” he mumbled. “Thinking too much.”

Jacob nodded. “I know the feeling.” He stood there, behind Miles for a second and looking out at the same inky black desert, as if the night would reveal some answers about their predicament if he looked hard enough. “Mind if I sit?” he asked. 

Miles looked up at Jacob for a moment, then shook his head ‘no.’ Jacob sat down cross-legged, and the two stayed like that for several minutes, taking in one-another’s silence. 

Finally, Miles spoke. “I can’t stop thinking about them,” Miles said. 

Jacob gave a puzzled look. He glanced back at their sleeping friends. “At those two?” he asked, jerking his thumb in Ryoken and Zoey’s sleeping bags. 

“What? No, no. I mean my family. All of our families.”

Jacob nodded.  _ Ah, this again _ , he thought. “I know what you mean,” he mumbled. 

“I just keep thinking about them since Eleanor mentioned...well, all of that,” Miles said. “About my mom, my dad, my brother.” He shook his head. “I just can’t imagine what Eleanor is going through. Not knowing what’s happened to your siblings is...well, it’s terrible.”

Jacob laughed. “You know, it’s kinda weird, when you think about it. We’re all worried sick about our families back home, but they’re scared sick of us. They aren’t the ones being chased by cops and crazy wizards. They’re not the ones in No Man’s Land, and they’re not the ones who got set up.” 

Miles shot him a look. “I can’t believe you can laugh at that,” he said. “After everything that’s happened.”

Jacob rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know, man. Sometimes there’s nothing to do but laugh.”

A silence fell over them again. The desert winds blew softly. “Jacob?” 

“Hm?”

“What’re they like?” Miles asked. “Your family, I mean.”

A pensive, warm smile formed on Jacob’s lips. “My sister Escher, she’s sweet. She’s in elementary school. My brother, Duran, he’s a bit different. He’s a quiet guy, a bit rough around the edges, but he’s good.”

“And your parents?”

“They’re good,” he said with a shake of his head. “I mean, of course I’d think that. And I don’t know what you’d think of them, but they’re not like a lot of the other families that were there that night.”

He looked back at Zoey’s sleeping form once more. “So many of the other families are just fucking pricks. Like the Lovrins, or the Oberins.”

The Oberins just sent a magical familiar to spy on them, so that warranted no further explanation, but Miles raised an eyebrow at the mention of the Lovrins. “Wait, so Zoey’s family? What’s wrong with them?”

Jacob exhaled, considering whether or not he should say. “They’re one of the weirder families,” he started. “Don’t get me wrong, her brothers and sisters are all really sweet. But a lot of her relatives have some screws loose. They forced everyone to become Oracles.”

Miles cringed at the thought. His father told him about the Oracles, the procedures they underwent to become telekinetic. It was...horrifying. 

“But my family...well, we’re not like that,” Jacob said. “I don’t know if you’d think so, but they’re good people. We’re not one of those crazy families. We’re from out of state initially. We’re not Mages or Oracles. We’re just...people.”

Miles titled his head to the side. “So, you aren’t from the Tower of Hope?”

Jacob shook his head. “No. No, I’m not. Neither is Ryoken. All of those families--the Lovrins, the Oberins--they all built the Tower. My family just came there later and made friends with them. That’s why I got invited to all the Galas.” His smile grew. “That’s how I met Zoey, actually.”  _ That’s why we’re dating _ , he thought. 

“How did you find out about her being...well…” Miles trailed off. 

“An Oracle?” Jacob asked. He chuckled. “I saw one of her sibling’s do it.” When Miles raised an eyebrow at what “it” was, hoping for an elaboration, Jacob continued. “Her older brother would bring things to him telekinetically. A cup from a shelf, or a pencil off the floor. I saw him do it one time, and...yeah.”

“So, where are you from?” 

Jacob sighed. “Well,  **I** am from Florence. But my family is mostly from New York.” Miles furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. 

“I’m adopted,” Jacob explained. “They got me when I was seven.” 

Miles nodded, understanding. “Was it...weird, at all?” Miles asked. “Do you have any memories from Florence?”

“Oh, of course,” Jacob said. “But they’re all scattered. Nobody’s even sure how I got there. My caretakers at the orphanage said I just...showed up, one day. I have no memory of that.”

A million questions went through Miles’ mind, about Jacob’s parentage, his family, his home, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew better than to pry about such a sensitive subject. 

“I can’t imagine how that was,” Miles said. “Like, I’ve never met your family, of course, but I’ve heard the name. And based on the fact that you were there, at the party, I presume your folks have money. To suddenly be halfway across the world, in a family like that…”

He trailed off, as if letting Jacob finish the thought for him. 

“Well, it was certainly...something,” Jacob settled on. “I was really homesick. I’m not anymore of course, but when they first got me, I really missed everything. But it’s strange. I mean, there was nothing for me back home--I don’t even know why I call it “home”--but I still think about it sometimes, as if there was something there. Sometimes, I want to go back.”

“Have you told your folks that?” Miles asked. 

“Never.” Jacob shook his head. “I mean, I don’t want them to think I’m ungrateful, you know? I love them. I love my family. But sometimes, I just wonder.”

Maybe it was a trick of the moonlight, or the darkness that surrounded them; but Miles swore he saw Jacob’s irises change, if only for a second, from brown to gold. 

Jacob laughed. “It’s weird. I never talk about this stuff. A lot of people don’t even realize I’m adopted.” He stood up, looking down at Miles. “I’m sorry, you were just trying to stretch your legs. I’ve only known you for a week, and now I’m spilling my guts.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Miles said with a wave of his hand. When Jacob still looked uncertain, Miles reached up and grabbed his wrist, pulling the taller boy down to the desert floor. “Seriously, it’s alright.”

“Jesus, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Jacob said. “Zoey’s the only one I’ve really talked to about that. I don’t know why I told you.”

Miles shrugged. “I have a face that makes people want to tell me things,” he joked. 

Miles was sitting on the sand cross-legged, but he tried as best he could to turn his whole body to face Jacob. “I don’t know anything about your life, and I’ve only known you for a week. But that makes me the perfect confidante.”

Jacob laughed. “Thanks, man.”

The two sat like that for a bit longer, relaxing under the stars and moon. The sound of the desert wind filled the silence. 

“Actually, I have a correction to make,” Jacob said. “I said I wasn’t homesick earlier, but I am. But for my real home.”

Miles nodded. “Same here,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about my mom and Matt all day. My old man, too.” 

“I can tell,” Jacob said. “You’ve seemed really out of it, lately.” Jacob sighed. “I miss my bed. I miss dinner, and my phone. I miss my clothes, and not being in a car all day.”

The sound of footsteps drew Miles’ attention away. He perked up and turned around, and Jacob did the same. A few dozen feet away, Eleanor was walking back to their campsite, her shoulders sagging, her footsteps heavy and slow. She looked about ready to collapse. Under her breath, she chanted the incantations for different spells, and her fingers glowed with mana, crimson and cobalt and silver and gold. 

“Do you think we’re gonna find her?” Jacob asked in a hushed tone. “Nadia?”

Miles sighed. “I hope so. I really do.”


	27. Chapter 24

The drone flew through the night sky at top speed. 

It was a new cutting-edge Model V61, the same state-of-the-art tracking drone that the Japanese military just acquired as part of a new business deal. 

It barely made a sound as it flew. It had a long, slender body the color of obsidian, with six “arms” protruding outwards. Each arm connected to a series of helicopter blades, thin as paper and sharp enough to slice through steel. They all spun in perfect mechanical unison, making it soar. 

At the center was the “Eye,” an invention of Japan's best scientists and engineers. A hyperadvanced camera the size of a dime, the Eye had been trained to pick up on energy signatures of all kinds, feeding that information back to the drone’s manufacturers. The Eye detected heat signatures, electromagnetic pulses, gamma radiation, and more. 

But those weren’t the main attractions. No, the true selling point of the Eye was its ability to pick up on the strange, fringe groups of the world. In the time it took to breathe, the Eye could scan an individual for traces of mana and deduce if they were a Mage.

The drone stopped in its proverbial tracks, hundreds of feet above the ground of No Man’s Land. The Eye adjusted it’s position automatically, squinting and zooming out several times to make sure. 

The smoke was long since gone, but thermal recognition determined that there had been a small fire of some kind earlier in the night. The drone turned in the air, switching to night vision. 

Below it were five signatures. The Eye first fell on a girl with long blonde hair in a black tank top. It was faint, but mana radiated off her like heat from a furnace. Running the face through its databases, the drone determined that the girl in question was Eleanor Haley. Orders were to kill on sight. 

Two more signatures to the left. A boy with dark skin and black hair. He was read as unidentified. Orders were to cover all loose ends. Kill on sight. 

Walking next to him was a tall man with tan, copper-colored skin and dark brown hair. He was read as Jacob Micolta. The Eye zoomed in and out several times. He gave off a strange reading, one that the drone’s software couldn’t quite identify. No matter. Orders were to kill on sight. 

A fourth signature. A girl with long black hair and a leather jacket. Traces read that she was a Type-B Oracle. Zoey Lovrin. Orders were to capture alive. 

A fifth signature. A young man with nearly shoulder-length black hair. Orders were to capture alive. 

The drone aimed, ready to fire at the command of its owner. 

_____________________________________________________________________

It wasn’t long after Eleanor returned that Miles and Jacob decided to head to bed. With heavy eyes and slow steps, they crawled back to the sleeping bags laid out next to their car. Eleanor was already sound asleep. 

Miles gave one last look at the moon, and noticed it. The slick, mechanical body of the drone. He stared up at the Eye, squinting in confusion and disbelief, before the details finally set in. 

The drone’s body opened up, and a cannon took aim at Jacob’s chest. 

“Jacob, GET DOWN!” 

Miles leaped at Jacob, pulling him out of the way. The cannon shot missed, barely. The round exploded behind the two teenagers, the shockwave knocking both off their feet. They tumbled through the air; Miles held out his arms and managed to cushion the landing with a roll, but Jacob landed flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. The explosion lit up the warm desert, and for the second time that night, Miles thought he saw a flash of gold in his friend’s eyes. 

The explosion woke Ryoken, Zoey and Eleanor, the latter of whom was instantly on her feet. She looked to Jacob and Miles, eyes wide with fury and worry, before following the source of the explosion. 

Meanwhile, Zoey was searching the darkness for Jacob. When she finally made out his silhouette in the darkness, Miles standing over him and helping the larger boy to his feet, she screamed his name. “JACOB!”

The drone turned to Zoey, its sensors picking up the sudden noise. “Lovrin, Zoey, detected,” it said. “Orders are to capture. Alive.”

She was still standing next to Ryoken, and its sensors detected him next. “Fukunaga, Ryoken. Prime directive. Orders are to capture. Alive.”

A second barrel opened from the top of the drone, a tranquilizer gun, aimed at Zoey. The drone started to descend, approaching her. She cursed the situation. Her powers would do no good against an airborne enemy. Ryoken grabbed her hand and ran, a tranquilizer dart just barely missing his neck. 

Before the drone had time to fire more, Eleanor was already preparing a spell. “Vertimo Fuisaca,” she chanted, making the corresponding gestures with her hand. 

It had been a few days since she used that spell, not since the Tower, yet Air Cannon was one of the most simple ranged spells in the study of magic. It came to Eleanor as easily as breathing. The white Rune appeared in her hand, and she unleashed her attack. 

The drone must have seen it coming, because it moved to the left and dodged the spell; all that Air Cannon accomplished was scratching one of its six tendrils. Switching out the cannon for a thin minigun aimed at Eleanor, the drone rained down a storm of lead. 

Eleanor jumped out of the way at the last second, one of the bullets nicking her in the leg. Before the drone could finish her, a small object knocked it off balance. 

Zoey was grabbing chunks of coal and ash from the earlier fire, freezing them into hunks of ice, and throwing them at the drone’s minigun with pinpoint accuracy. “C’mon!” Zoey shouted. “Over here!” 

Ryoken grabbed her wrist before she could throw another. “What are you doing?” he hissed. 

“Didn’t you hear it?” Zoey asked. “It’s trying to capture us alive. We’re the only ones who can distract it without getting hurt ourselves.”

The realization hit Ryoken like a truck. He bent down, grabbing one of the burnt sticks from Jacob’s fire, and threw it at the drone like a javelin. It bounced off harmlessley, but it got the job done. 

The drone turned around, looking back to Zoey and Ryoken. “Resistance detected,” it said. “Capture orders: overridden.” The minigun was aimed at Zoey, and it began spinning. “Lovrin, Zoey. Orders are to terminate.”

Taking advantage of the distraction, Eleanor charged every last drop of mana into her palms and prepared another spell. “Konduciv...Beckon...Tonitura.”

The familiar yellow-and-blue symbols appeared in her hand. Eleanor aimed with her right hand and held onto her wrist with her left hand, steadying herself. She focused, cleared her mind, and fired. 

The Electrify hit the drone dead on. For a moment, time stopped. The drone’s gun was still aimed at Zoey, but the whirring stopped. One of the blades faltered, then stopped completely, then another, then another. The Eye blinked twice, then faded into black. 

The drone plummeted to the earth, and for a moment, Eleanor thought she won. 

It was only a moment. 

The second before the drone hit the ground, the Eye blinked back to life. The blades started spinning once more, and the drone hovered back into place. The minigun was aimed at Eleanor, then at Miles, Jacob, trying to decide who to exterminate. 

Depleted of mana and exhausted from the day’s travels, Eleanor collapsed to the ground. Miles ran to her, trying to pull her back to her feet. “Got any more tricks up your sleeve,” he asked earnestly. 

“Afraid not,” Eleanor said. “That was the last one.”

The drone lowered itself slightly, aiming at both Miles and Eleanor. A speaker on the drone emitted a grating mechanic voice: “Unidentified persons. Exterminate.”

Both too tired to move, Miles and Eleanor could only watch as the drone fired another wave of bullets. Miles attempted to shield Eleanor with his body, both of their eyes firmly shut. 

Ryoken didn’t know what was wrong with him. One second, he was hiding behind the van, trying to take cover. The next, he was running between Eleanor, Miles and the drone. As if his legs moved on their own. 

Zoey screamed for him to stop, but he couldn’t hear her. Ryoken heard nothing except for the whirring of the drone, the sound of his heart racing in his ears. 

Without thinking, Ryoken held out his hands.  The bullets stopped. 

Eleanor opened her eyes ever so slowly, expecting all of their bodies to be bloody and riddled with bullet holes. Instead, hundreds of tiny pieces of lead were suspended in the air.  Ryoken’s wrists crackled with a faint electrical glow. It was the same glow that spiraled around Zoey’s wrists when she used her powers, the same glow around Raio’s hands when he saved Ryoken at the Tower several days ago. It was the sign of an Oracle. 

Energy flowed through his veins; he felt light. Free. Powerful, even. Powerful enough to take over the world, to find his father, to get answers. Powerful enough to defeat a military-grade drone without a scratch on him. 

He looked up at the drone. Its fans whirred furiously, its cameras blinking nervously, but it did not move. As if an invisible hand was holding it in place.  The bullets fell to the ground, harmless, the lead hot to the touch. Ryoken narrowed his eyes. Fear gave way to anger. He carefully balled his open palms into fists; at the same time, the drone was telekinetically crushed, before falling to the ground, broken and defeated. 

Eleanor was the first to speak. 

“Fukunaga,” she said, breathless. “What. The hell. Was that?”

Ryoken breathed deeply. “I...I don’t know…”

“He’s an Oracle,” Zoey realized. “Only an Oracle could have done that.”

Ryoken looked down at his hands, the electricity fading into nothing. That strange, beautiful power that had flowed through his veins was just...gone. Vanished, without a trace. 

By this point, Miles and Jacob had hobbled back towards the others, the two leaning on one-another for supporting. Zoey ran over and hugged both of them, squeezing them with her arms. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. 

“We’re fine, Zo,” Jacob said. His hair was covered in sand and dust, his face covered in black and brown soot, but he didn’t look much worse for wear. Same for Miles. 

Zoey hesitated for a moment, then pressed a kiss to Jacob’s cheek. He smiled, and pulled her in for another on the lips. Next to them, Miles looked both uncomfortable and relieved. 

“More importantly, who the hell sent that?” Ryoken asked. 

“It was Claus,” Eleanor said, hate bleeding into every word. “It must have been.” She shook her head. “Fuck, guys, I’m sorry. This is on me. I killed his Deva. Of course he’s after us.”

Jacob glanced over at the drone, at the logo on the side of it. 

“Hey, guys,” he said nervously. “I don’t think Eleanor’s brother sent this.” Zoey and Miles followed his gaze, coming to the same realization as him. Eleanor and Ryoken looked at Jacob suspiciously, to which he elaborated, “Just take a look.”

Scrawled on the side of the drone were thick golden letters. They were a bit obscured by the broken pieces of metal and the night sky, but Ryoken recognized them immediately. 

“Fukunaga Industries,” he said. “That’s my brother’s company.”

All eyes turned to him, wide with fury, fright and confusion. “Wait, your brother sent this?” Miles asked. “How’s that possible? I thought he…well, I thought he died.”

If Ryoken was annoyed by Miles’ lack of tact, he didn’t show it. The revelation at hand was far more disturbing. “Not my brother,” Ryoken corrected. “He wasn’t supposed to take over the company until later this year. Right now, the chief shareholder and the only one who knows about this model is...my father.”

A stillness fell over the quintet, a foreboding. The knowledge that they had gotten in way, way over their head. 

“He knows we’re coming,” Jacob said. “And he’s trying to kill us.” 


	28. Chapter 25

They drove throughout the night. Everyone was way too jumpy to sleep, but way too tired to protest when Miles took the wheel. Surprisingly, the kid did alright. 

Ryoken was in the shotgun seat, staring at his hands as if they were the most fascinating thing in the universe, trying to conjure that energy back to his palms by sheer force of will. 

Zoey leaned forward, putting a hand on Ryoken’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He brushed her hand off his shoulder. “I’m fine.” Maybe it was just the bags under her thin eyes, but Zoey looked uncharacteristically annoyed. Ryoken looked at her reflection in the rearview mirror, their eyes meeting. “Sorry,” he mustered. 

The sun started to shine a couple hours later, filling the sky with colorful streaks, arctic blue and radiant orange, deep violet and calming magenta. 

Not long after, they passed by a sign: Woodharest, 5 Miles. Seeing this, Ryoken made an announcement. “We’re getting closer,” he said. “I recognize this place. Woodharest.”

“How far do you reckon we are?” Eleanor asked. 

“My father’s lakehouse is just a couple towns over. We’re...hmm...halfway there? No, more like two-thirds.”

“Are we out of No Man’s Land?” Miles asked. 

Ryoken’s face was firm, serious. “No.” 

Miles’ face fell. 

Woodharest was a tiny town. Contrary to its name, there weren’t any trees around for miles. Before the Murros factories and power plants took over, this place had been filled with lush forests and clean rivers. Now? Not so much. Just sand and heat and rocks, like everywhere else. 

This is one of the more mountainous sections of No Man’s Land. Massive, rough spikes of earth shot up out of the ground, intersecting on one-another and branching off in innumerable paths. The local children talk of how this was the Unknowns doing, how they ruined this land, but their parents and grandparents knew that these hills and mountains had been here longer than any man, that no Unknown was powerful enough to shape the world itself. Hopefully. 

Cliffs overlooked every one of the main roads, and from atop a cliff, the stranger watched. He was a tall man, a few inches over six feet, with tan skin the collar of copper. Cheap sunglasses covered his normally blue eyes. He wore a thin white jacket, a gray t-shirt underneath. Tight black jeans hugged his thighs, crotch and ass. His rumpled black hair was long and overgrown, coming a few inches past his shoulders in a rudimentary mullet. He currently sat atop a white motorcycle, a custom model he created in 2038. 

This was Kaiser Caruso, Trailblazer and the fourth son of the Caruso family, one of the seven families that governed the Tower and its inhabitants. 

He activated his Secret, the ancient power of the Unknowns, and his eyes flared gold. The brilliant, radiating sun cast a long shadow against the dry rocks, but now, that shadow seemed to move on its own, independent from its master. The shadow detached one foot from Kaiser’s, then another, before pulling itself to the ground. 

In this form, the Shadow looked like night itself. Dark tendrils formed arms and legs, a spherical shape represented its head. The Shadow contorted its hands into claws, thirsty for blood. 

Kaiser was an Unknown and a Trailblazer, but he was also human. But the Shadow...the Shadow was something more. A power that could not be explained by the technologies of the new ages, nor the magic of old times. It was not mystical, not scientific. It could follow where normal humans would perish, fight longer and harder and faster and better than any Normal could ever dream of. 

“Go,” Kaiser commanded, his voice hard, like metal on stone. “Follow them,” he said, pointing his fingers. 

The Shadow turned to their car, curious, and jumped off the cliff. 

Kaiser watched it go for several seconds. Once he was sure the car was far enough away that they wouldn’t notice him, but he could still see them, he revved his motorcycle twice, the hum of the engine underneath his legs oh-so-familiar, and drove after them. 

________________________________________________________________

They stopped at a diner on the way in town, a tiny little hole in the wall that served all day breakfast. 

Miles, Jacob and Zoey all fell into a booth towards the back, exhausted out of their minds, while Eleanor and Ryoken sat on the bar, ordering something for their group. The sun-stained walls looked both dreary and homely; smells of fried meat, potatoes and eggs filled the air. 

After ordering five breakfast specials and five coffees, giving a generous tip to the waiter in the process, Ryoken turned to Eleanor. “I remember coming here with Raio.”

He had an almost wistful look on his face, but it didn’t last long. “We’d stop here when we went to go visit dad.” The coffee arrived, and without making eye contact with Eleanor or the waiter, Ryoken took a long, deep drink. 

“This town? Or this diner?” Eleanor asked. 

“Both,” he said. “I haven’t eaten here since I was a kid.”

Eleanor tried to picture Ryoken as a kid, but she couldn’t find a way to mentally de-age his deep eyes, perpetual scowl, or tall cheekbones; so she settled for just picturing him now, but three feet shorter. A disturbing, amusing image, indeed. 

“My family never traveled,” Eleanor said. “We were dirt-fucking-poor. We never even ate out.”

“Oh, the irony,” Ryoken said, a rare, uncharacteristic grin on his lips. Eleanor elbowed him in the side. 

“I wanted to ask you something about last night,” she said, and he raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh?” 

“Don’t give me that look.” She took a sip of her own coffee. “Did you hear what it said last night?”

She turned around, throwing a quick glance at Zoey, before looking back. Ryoken hummed, crossing his arms. “I didn’t,” he admitted. “Amidst the confusion, I couldn’t hear a thing it said.”

“I was close enough to hear its orders,” Eleanor said. “It was ordered to kill all of us...but capture you and Zo alive.”

Ryoken nodded. “That makes sense. When it found us, it switched to a tranquilizer gun. But…”

“It switched back to the gun when she resisted,” Eleanor finished. 

Ryoken rested his chin on his hand. “This doesn’t bode well. My father’s getting desperate. He was willing to sacrifice my fiance to get to me, and he was the one who ordered the marriage in the first place.”

After traveling with them for a week, Eleanor could safely say that the thought of Ryoken and Zoey getting married made her skin crawl, especially considering how happy she was with Jacob. (Well, “happy” was a relative term when two people were on the run from the law.)

Then, Eleanor thought about how strange it seemed for Ryoken to marry...well, anyone. Especially at this age. The idea of marrying someone at their age was enough to make Eleanor want to jump off a cliff.  _ Maybe he would just end up like Charles _ , Eleanor thought.  _ Traveling the world, never coming home. Fucking around, leaving kids behind _ . 

“But we can use this,” Eleanor said. “Your father was willing to kill all of us, except you. That’s more than I can say about Claus and me. He must still have plans for you.”

“Makes sense,” Ryoken said. “Without Raio, I’m next in line to run the company.” Eleanor shook her head at the cold, emotionless approach that Ryoken took to the issue, but she didn’t know the Fukunaga family well enough to refute that notion.  _ Maybe that is his dad’s motivation, who knows? Rich people are weird as hell.  _

“Regardless of the motive, if we can get him to let his guard down around you, we can corner him and get some answers.”

The thought of reaching his father filled Ryoken with a strange anticipation, an excitement. His mouth broke out in a toothy smile, one that chilled Eleanor to her bones. His wrists crackled with energy, and the coffee, napkins and spoons were all drawn to his arms, crawling slowly across the table. 

He didn’t even notice. Eleanor reached over and put a hand on his arm, and suddenly, the objects stopped. He blinked in surprise. 

“It happened again, didn’t it?” he asked. 

She nodded. “Still can’t control it, can you?”

“It’s not like flipping a light switch,” he said. “It’s not like your magic.”

Eleanor couldn’t tell which she was more pissed off about: the assessment that Runic Magic was akin to “flipping a switch,” or the hushed tone in which he said “magic,” as if it were a curse that would bring him misfortune for speaking it aloud. 

“My magic is not like that,” she said. “It’s not that easy. It requires clarity. Focus.”

He waved his hand, as if to say ‘Whatever.’ “Jesus, sorry. I’m not trying to start shit.” 

She huffed. The two sipped their coffee in silence for a while. Food came a few minutes after, and Eleanor practically inhaled it. Ryoken, starving as he was, at least took his time to taste the stuff he was putting in his mouth. 

“I’ve heard it before,” he said after finishing his plate. “About magic. My father always told me Mages were emotionless, dangerous.”

“No more dangerous than Oracles, or Unknowns,” she corrected. “We aren’t the people who can bend reality or make objects move with our minds, remember? Besides, we’re not emotionless.” She sighed, struggling to find the words. “We can use emotions to generate mana and pull it from our bodies. Fear, anger, sadness, all that shit. But the second we fire a spell, we need to be totally focused. We need to have a singular drive. And emotion can either cloud that, or ground it.”

“You make it sound so easy,” he said. 

“It’s not. Mages tend to be good at picking up on emotions. If they’re feeling too much too fast, it messes with their magic. You have to tune everything out, except for one thing. Maybe that one thing is a love for combat, or an intense anger.”

“You seem half-decent,” Ryoken said mildly. 

“I was super rusty before the Tower.” She looked down at her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the fact that Nadia’s gone, but my mind just feels clear.” She looked back up at him. “But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Magic needs recollection. I need specific gestures and incantations for every spell.”

“It’s not like that at all with me,” he told her. “It’s entirely automatic. I don’t even notice I’m doing it.”

“But it sounds like there’s some common ground,” she said. “Your powers are at their best when you’re deep in thought, or have some kind of drive, right? Like when your brother protected you, or Zoey fought back in that safe room. That’s what magic is like, too.” She paused. “Well, not all of it. There are different Branches of magic.”

He nodded. “I wonder if Unknowns are like that, too. If they need some kind of focus.”

“I never knew any Unknowns,” Eleanor said. 

“I only knew a couple. All Carusos.” 

She didn’t ask what that meant. By that point, they’d both finished their coffee. She signaled for the others to come join them. 

“C’mon,” she said. “Let’s find someplace to crash.”


	29. Chapter 26: Nadia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadia unlocks a new ability.

Cold steel and shadows. The smell of chemicals and bleach. Hard, smooth glass. 

These were the sensations that accompanied Nadia Perry as she awoke every morning. 

Well, morning was a relative term. The man with the golden eyes and ashen hair had brought her to some kind of bunker. There were no windows, just smooth, white walls and flickering fluorescent lights that drove her mad. Nothing to indicate what time of day it was, or what day it even was. All she knew was that sometimes, between test after test after test, she’d slip into a restless, dreamless sleep in a white cot. And when she awoke, the cycle would start anew. 

The tests hurt. She wasn’t even sure what they were testing. Somedays, they’d make her do logic problems, IQ tests, puzzles. Other days, they’d test her legs, see how much she could move them, and when the result inevitably dissatisfied them, they’d make her do pushups or curl ups, testing her arms. 

One day, they didn’t even make her do anything. They just took her blood, and spent an hour in another room, analyzing it, talking, shouting amongst themselves. When that didn’t satisfy them, they took another pint. Then another. Then another. By the end of the day, Nadia was paler than normal, and she felt dizzy, hungry, cold. Everytime, they always had pipes and tubes hooked up to her arms, and those pipes and tubes attached to machines, buzzing and whirring and pulsing in the corner of the room, always with her. 

Those first nights, she’d scream and scream and scream until her throat bled and no words came out. Then, they’d wake her up a few hours later, and make her do more puzzles, more tests, more exercises. When it became clear that they’d never stop, that they’d never answer her questions and they’d never keep testing, Nadia grew silent. 

The people taking these tests didn’t seem to tire like she did, or if they did, they didn’t show it. It was always the same general group of people. A lanky, beanpole-shaped lad with thin rectangular glasses, a gaunt face and unruly chestnut hair. A pear-shaped woman with copper skin and a white lab coat. A lady with way-too-red lipstick, large arms and a snow-colored coat that barely covered them. Scientist-types, generally. 

But there was another. A tall, Asian man with short-ish black hair and sharp cheekbones; he seemed to be the one in charge, always ordering them around, yet he was rarely seen. He’d drop by at the end of the day, then retreat up the stairs just as Nadia drifted off to sleep. 

She rarely caught his gaze; usually, she was in the middle of some kind of test, and if she tried to look his way, they’d grab her by the face and turn her around. But, the one time she did meet his eye, around the third or fourth day in the bunker, she saw something she didn’t expect in him. Sadness. Regret. 

Nadia got good at multitasking. Really, really good. With one part of her brain, she’d do exercises (or what limited ones she could manage), solve problems, whatever. With another, she’d try to listen in on what he said. 

The leader’s voice sounded hard as stone, but not necessarily throaty or gravelly. Just commanding. As if he was someone who’d never asked for a thing in his life, only ordering. 

Most of the time, she could only make out a word or two of each conversation, but during one test, he was leaning particularly close to the glass wall, and she could hear every word. 

“The hell do you mean?” he asked. 

“I mean exactly that.” It was the beanpole of a man. “We can’t find any traces in her.”

“Our partner insists otherwise,” the Asian man said. “Run more blood tests.”

“But--”

“ **Now** .”

That night, Nadia lost a few more pints of blood. She passed out in her wheelchair before she could even make it to bed, and woke up to find an IV in her arm. 

She didn’t see the hard-voiced man for a few days after that.

There were two more. A shorter man with skin the color of snow and hair the hue of the sun. His hair was the same shade as Eleanor’s. He looked old, maybe in his late fifties, early sixties or so. He was rarely around, only once or twice, but he always had the same smile plastered on his face, like the grin of a plastic doll. And he was always seen with the golden-eyed man who brought her in. 

Sometimes, if Nadia closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep, and concentrated really,  **really** hard, she could hear what they were saying. 

“...just don’t think you’re being reasonable.” A deeper, sardonic tone. The man who kidnapped her. _ Gold eyes!  _

“Of course I am.” The words were bright without being kind, harsh underneath an air of politeness. The sun-haired man. 

“The girl...priority...sister…”

_ Sister?  _ Nadia thought.  _ They don’t mean...Eleanor? _

“We had one shot, the perfect chance…”

“...not my problem…”

“You and your brother...find her.”

She heard footsteps, light and slow. The ashen-haired man walked away. The other one mumbled something about Carusos keeping their promises. 

_______________________________________________

It was late, one night. Late enough that some of the scientists had gone out for their third coffee break. Sometimes, if Nadia really focused, she could hear stifled yawns on the corner of their mouths. 

Today was bizarre. They’d been making her chant verses from some kind of...well, “book” didn’t exactly do it justice. It was a massive, leather bound tome with water-thin pages filled to the brim handwritten scribbles not exactly unlike letters. 

The words were a bizarre mix. Some of them were entire sentences in Latin, German, Spanish, even Old English, from what the scientists told her. They seemed to only answer her questions about this book. Others looked like modern English words, but just a bit off, with one or two letters changed, or the pronunciation slightly differently. Most of the time, a single verse was a gamut of several different phrases from each of these languages. 

With each phrase, she also had to make certain gestures with her hands. She’d done a handful (pun intended) on earlier days, but never this many, never this complicated, never with chants. It felt foreign to her, but it also reminded her of the magic Anna performed before the accident. 

A short, thick man who Nadia nicknamed “Baldy” finally dismissed her after several hours of this. He stormed out, a vial of blood in hand, and once he was behind the soundproof (but still transparent) walls, he began shouting at the other scientists. 

Nadia leaned back in her bed. Today, they let her perform all of this from her bed. Still, she was exhausted. Her eyelids were heavy, but she forced herself to stay awake. Without sound, her only means of eavesdropping on the scientists was to try to read their lips. Easier said than done, but she could make out a couple words. 

“Failed.”

“...useless.”

“Unknown.”

“Mana.”

Nadia raised an eyebrow.  _ Mana? That doesn’t make any sense. I don’t have any _ . 

Her arms felt like they were made of lead, but if Nadia had any more strength left in them, she would’ve facepalmed. “Of course,” she whispered, her voice raspy from lack of use. “They were testing me for magic. They were making me cast spells.”

_ But why?  _ She thought.  _ Wouldn’t one test have been sufficient?  _

For a brief, fleeting moment, her mind was consumed with a memory from her past. A memory of her mother, Anna. She was so young, her skin so soft, and she always smelled like cinnamon. For someone so young, her smile was so sad, and her hair so gray. 

Nadia wasn’t even sure the memory was real. It wasn’t fully formed. Just a single image of her mother wiping away tears at the thought that her younger daughter would never perform a spell. 

Nadia shook her head, dismissing that and trying to muster all the magical knowledge she could draw on. Magic had properties connected to DNA, right? That was how children inherited it from their parents. 

She frowned. That was why they drew blood, right? But why so much blood? And why so many tests? 

The only reason they would do so many tests…

Nadia gasped. 

_ It’s my blood _ , she realized.  _ It has traces of mana in it. That’s why they thought I could perform magic. But I can’t. So they did it again, and again, and again _ . 

_ But what’s so special about one little girl who can and can’t do magic? _

Before she had an answer, exhaustion overtook her. Nadia Perry fell into a deep, deep slumber. 

The slumber lasted all of a few seconds before Nadia was awake again. Only, it didn’t feel like it. She felt lighter. Free, even. 

Looking at her hands, her skin seemed so pale. No, not pale, that wasn’t quite right. It was an almost blue color.  _ Blue?  _

Her flesh felt airy, her hair no longer greasy, her skin no longer grimy. She wiggled her toes and...wait. 

She wiggled her toes. 

Nadia looked down at her legs, eyes wide with shock. 

“I can move them,” she exclaimed. Then, louder, “I can move them!”

She immediately covered her mouth, making sure that none of the scientists could hear her. They were all still on the other side of the glass, still discussing amongst themselves. Baldy still had the vial of blood gripped so tight in his meaty hands Nadia worried it would burst. They didn’t respond to her. 

Despite emanating from her mouth, her words sounded wispy and far away, as if no air was moving when she spoke. Looking down, Nadia saw…

Herself. 

The young girl was still on the bed, her hands dry and cracked, deep bags under her eyes, platinum hair greasy and dirty. Nadia was looking at herself. 

Panic shot through her veins. “What’s happening? How am I doing this?”

Her senses were blurred, as if she was still asleep. Actually, scratch that, she  **was** asleep, but somehow projecting, as if splitting her spirit away from her body. Nadia reached out and touched her own forehead, but she felt nothing. She couldn’t feel the cold steel or hard glass of the lab, nor could she smell the chemicals and bleach. 

But her hearing stayed as sharp as ever, and her sight was intact. Nadia willed her body to move, and her spirit--transcending the bounds of her flesh--moved on its own, hovering across the room. Here, she could move freely. Here, she was untethered. 

She moved through the thick glass walls as if they were nothing, just as the scientists began to leave. She overheard Baldy issue another order in his meaty, thick voice. 

“Find her sister. Test her blood, too.”

_ Eleanor _ , Nadia thought. 

Willing herself to move once more, Nadia shot through the ceiling, leaving her spiritless body behind in that hard cot. She moved through the ceiling as if it were water, and found herself in a forest, hovering a few meters above leaves of grass soaked with morning dew. 

“I...I was underground?” she questioned aloud. 

Turning around, she came face to face with the house. Honestly, “house” didn’t do it justice. It was a massive cottage, hundreds of logs all stripped and torn apart and lined up to make a shelter big enough for dozens of people to live in comfortably. It had all the details of a cozy summer home--wide porch, stained glass windows, high ceiling--just ten times bigger than it reasonably needed to be. 

The lab that she’d been kept in for so many days felt insignificant now. It was just the basement of an even larger structure of wood, glass and concrete. 

Nadia remembered Eleanor, and for a moment, her mind seemed to “lock on.” She was drawn westward, away from the house, as if a magnet were pulling her that way. 

Without knowing for sure, Nadia got the distinct feeling that her sister was coming. And she would be here soon. 

“I need to warn her.”

Nadia closed her eyes, the only part of her body that hadn’t turned pale blue. Instead, her eyes burned with brilliant gold. 

“I’m coming, sister.”

Nadia commanded her body to move. To fly. And it did. 


End file.
